Intermezzo
by danceoftheheart
Summary: This story is the continuation of my 'At Seventeen' and 'Adagio' novellas.
1. Prologue

Intermezzo

Prologue

For an early spring day the heat was rather oppressive. The sun was a blistering ball of gas in a cloudless sky. My cotton shirt was clinging to my back in damp patches by the time we had made it back to the lab, the weather being only partially responsible for it. My body temperature was currently being fueled by anger and a minor infection from the deep tear in my left palm.

Matt played the gentleman and held the door for me but before I passed through I felt forced to say, "Before we enter the building we need to reach an understanding."

"Alright," he said, letting the glass panel fall close and stepping out of the path to the side of the building.

"You and I share a professional relationship that is very important to me. I believe it would be in the best interest of said relationship to pretend the episode in the park never happened. Is that clear?"

Matt shoved his hands in his pocket and looked distantly over my shoulder. "Crystal. Anything else?"

I sighed. Wonderful. On top of everything else I've been dealing with in the last couple of days I now had to deal with Matt's bruised ego. Needless to say, after his sorry display of jealousy, I wasn't in the mood to placate him so I'm afraid my temper got the best of me. "Listen, I respect you as an officer of the law and my supervisor. I think when it comes to law enforcement, you've got a sensible, intelligent and direct approach to making this team an effective defensive against crime in this city. But, when it comes to interpersonal relationships, you've still got a few things to learn. I've suspected you were interested in me for a while. I believe you've tried to subtly let me know that you were on several occasions. I tried to be polite and nice by ignoring your overtures and not giving you any encouragement. I'd hoped you'd eventually understand that I didn't return your feelings. Now, while that might seem like an underhanded way to deal with the situation, you didn't give me much option. Frankly, if you'd actually expressed your interest openly, I would have been able to let you know that I was involved with someone else and that would have been the end of it, right? We wouldn't have ended up in this mess."

He nodded but declined to answer at that point.

"And it's not personal, Matt. Not really. I think you're a great guy but I'm in love with someone else and that's all there is to it. I would like us to be able to put this behind us. Think you can manage that?"

"Of course. Like you said, let's forget it ever happened."

"Okay, then." This time I was the one who reached for the door and held it open behind me for Matt to follow me in. Foolishly I'd hoped that clearing the air in that open forthright manner would be a solid step towards putting things right between us…but I was wrong. I was treated to an even colder silence as we maneuvered our way through the building and the elevator to our floor. Perfect. My patience level was at a very low threshold for this kind of thing. I simply didn't have time for drama. We were about to meet up with Gil and I was going to have to pretend that nothing was wrong. I just hoped my acting skills were up to par.

When the elevator doors opened to our floor, Matt exited swiftly, heading directly to his office but I was caught by our floor desk sergeant. "I don't see Dr. Grissom."

I shook my head. "No, Bill. He didn't go with us."

Bill shook his head with a smile. "I know that. A few minutes after you'd left, he came to the desk asking for directions. I told him you wouldn't be long and it would be better to wait but he was insistent."

"That's odd. We should have seen him in passing. How could we have missed each other?"

"I don't know-"

There was a 'bing' behind us and the elevator doors slid open once more. "There he is," I said with a bright, welcoming smile. "Bill was just telling me that you'd come after us. I'm surprised we didn't see you."

"I think I took a wrong turn," Gil replied quietly, his lips turned up just enough to appear casually unconcerned.

"Sorry to hear that, Dr. Grissom. I guess my directions weren't clear enough."

"Wasn't your fault, sergeant. I wasn't paying attention. Sort of caught up in my own thoughts." Again, that weird, supposedly easy-going smile appeared.

His expression struck me as very odd. I didn't remember ever seeing quite that look on his face before and his eyes were very dark…a noticeable contrast to his 'open' stance. After throwing a polite thank-you to Bill I drew him away a little before asking. "Are you alright? Tired?"

"Headache," he said. "You don't look that well yourself."

"Thanks." I winked at him to take the bite out of the sarcastic reply. "I'm about ready to call it a day. This might have been a little too much to handle so quickly after getting out of the hospital. Whatsay we corner Matt, deal with the rest of the debriefing as quickly as possible and head home to bed." It was a simple offer; the first thing that entered my head actually, but Gil responded in a way that melted my worries.

His eyes grew warmer, his body shifted intimately into my space and his hand gently brushed my curls back behind my ear. "Best idea you've had all day. Exactly my thoughts but with one small alteration."

"And that would be?"

"That we actually post-pone the rest of the debriefing for another day. I was serious when I said you didn't look well."

I groaned. "There's nothing I'd rather do but…I'm sure there's not much left and we don't know what your schedule's going to be. I mean, we're pushing the limits as it is, right? Matt won't be happy if you get called out of town suddenly and this case is left hanging."

For a moment, it looked as though Gil was going to argue with me but then he gave in with a nod and turned to go down the hall. I followed suit but hadn't made it more than two steps before Bill called my name. "Sara. Almost forgot. There's a delivery here for you." He reached below the desk but came back empty handed. "Hmmm. Was here a minute ago."

"I could come back-" I started but got no further.

"No, no, just give me a second. Couldn't have gone far."

I nodded, biting my lip and glanced at the clock. The second turned into a minute and the minute to five as he not only searched his counter but the shelves behind it. "I swear it was – oh, here we are. Right under my nose." He retrieved a plain wrapped box from the depths of the counter and presented it like a prize.

"Oh. Thanks." I accepted the parcel he handed me absently, anxious to catch up to Gil. "Appreciate it. Have a good night," I told him and scampered off down the hall. I wasn't thrilled about Gil and Matt being in the same room together by themselves for very long. Who knew what kind of mood Matt was in at the moment. I dropped the parcel in my purse and hurried down the hall.

Turns out I needn't have worried. Gil was leaning against the window discussing baseball and the talent line-up the Giants had managed to pull together this season. "They may have a pretty good shot," Gil was saying as I entered the room.

"Cubs are strong too," Matt said, from his seat on the edge of his desk. "Pitching staff is top notch."

"No argument there," Gil said. "Hey Sar. All set?"

"Yep. Here I was feeling guilty about holding up our meeting and you two are talking baseball."

Matt waved me off. "I think we covered everything we needed to. Gil can tell you about the rest of his dealings with the FBI at home. I've already heard most of it from Gil and Agent Salizar."

"Oh, well that's great," I said despite the fact that a part of me was miffed that they'd made that decision without me. "It's all settled then. Shall we head out?" I asked Gil.

He nodded, and held out a hand to Matt. "This may be the last time I see you before I head back to Las Vegas. Should anything come up, you know how to reach me. I plan to be at Sara's number for the rest of the week." He moved towards the door but then something had him turning back. "Actually…hold that thought. Sar, seeing as you've got some leave time coming-"

"Translation…since you've been unofficially suspended for two weeks."

"I was trying to put a positive spin on it," Gil said with a chuckle.

"I'm a big girl. Let's call a spade a spade."

"Fine. Whatever. Anyway, as I was saying, since you've suddenly got a lot of time on your hands, why don't we take off for a few days…somewhere warm where no one knows us."

To say I was surprised was an understatement. Neither Gil nor I were creatures of impulse so the suggestion really came at me from left field. "Um…um…sure…I mean it sounds wonderful but can you really take more time away from the lab? I thought they needed you back?"

"There's nothing pressing. Whatever crisis they were in they managed to deal with without my services. I've accumulated about three weeks worth of sick-leave. I'm sure they can continue to manage without me if I take advantage of that now."

"Then…then…if you're sure…yes, I'd love to go. It's been a while since we've been away. Yes. Let's do it." It was a little out of character for both of us but maybe it was just what we needed. Speaking of out of character, on the tail end of my agreement, Gil bent down and dropped a kiss on my lips. Not just any kiss. Not a polite little smooch or a happy little thank-you kiss. No, this was a full blown, 'I've missed you like hell and want to crawl into your pants as soon as I get you alone kiss.' The action itself caught me off-guard…the delivery just about blew my mind. All I could think was, "Holy Crap, what's gotten into him?" and then I couldn't think at all.

It was Gil who ended the kiss and pulled back to address Matt. "Well, I guess that's settled," he murmured, his voice gruff with emotion. "Give us a couple of hours to figure out where we want to go and we'll call and leave you a number so that you can reach us if you need to."

Matt folded his arms and nodded coolly. "Good plan. You two have fun."

Gil was already pushing me out the door. "Don't worry. We will."


	2. Chapter 1

Intermezzo

Part One

_LYRICAL INTERMEZZO NO. 55 __**by: Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (1836-1870)**_

_O__FTEN when two are parting, _

_Each grasps a hand as friend; _

_And then begins a weeping _

_And a sighing without end. _

_We did not sigh when parting; _

_No tears between us fell; _

_The weeping and the sighing _

_Came after our farewell. _

_--Translated by Chas. G. Leland_

We ended up in California. Gil's mother's beach front cottage in Moonstone Beach, Cambria to be exact. For five glorious, fantastical days we sat on the deck and watched the waves, went on nature walks along the shore and made love to the rhythm of the surf. And we talked. Not about work or school or anything important. Just easy things like whether or not we enjoyed the movie we saw on television or how we wanted our eggs cooked that morning.

It was like living in one of those sweet, romantic movies that I used to watch in my bedroom in Tamales Bay. It was so simple…and sweet and…perfect and I knew in my heart of hearts that it was probably the happiest I'd ever been in my life.

The only thing marring the getaway was the occasional heart-stopping nightmare that I'd so far managed to hide from Gil but that was to be expected after the ordeal we had just survived. I was pretty sure that he wasn't aware that I hadn't been able to sleep a full night since we'd arrived and I was determined to keep it that way.

A pair of very familiar arms wrapped softly around my frame, enveloping me in his embrace and I leaned back knowing now that my morning was complete. "You know, Gil, this was a really…really…good idea."

"I'm glad you think so…now."

I chuckled, turning about in his arms. "Hey, give me a break. Any person in their right mind would have hesitated after the way you brought this up. I mean, I have nothing against meeting your mother but…how did you put it? Oh, yeah. 'Sara, let's go invade my mother's place. She won't mind us dropping in, even if it is short notice. I'm sure she'll be able to put us up and if she can't…well, there're always hotels, aren't there?"

"I suppose that did sound a little too casual, but she wouldn't have minded in the least. I'm sorry she couldn't be here. I think the two of you would have enjoyed meeting each other."

"Really? That's a very nice thing to say."

"It's the truth. You have…how do I put this? You share some of the same mannerisms."

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Okay, don't take this the wrong way, but this conversation's starting to go in a direction I'm not sure I'm comfortable with." I smiled gently at him to let him know I was teasing.

He shook his head. "It's hard to explain, Sara. It's your hands, I suppose."

"My hands?"

"Yes. They're competent but graceful. Like hers. I told you she's an artist, right?"

My heart started to pound just a little. I hoped he wasn't aware that it had. "Yes. You did." I nodded at the painting just inside the door. "That's one of hers there. I saw the signature last night."

"Right. When I was younger I used to watch her paint. Unlike what I've been told about most other artists, she didn't mind being observed as she worked. Could be attributed to the fact that she couldn't hear so she didn't get distracted like some others would. I think she was happy for the company."

"Well, your company for sure," I said, nodding for him to go on but not really wanting to.

"Anyway, I used to watch the movement of her hands and you…you have the same gestures…quirks, even. I noticed it when we played chess…and when you were drawing diagrams and maps at the lab. You're very confident and accurate when you draw…actually I think you're extremely talented…" he stopped as I pulled away from him. "Did I say something wrong?"

I shook my head. "No, I just wanted some more coffee. Did you want some?"

"Sara? Did I offend you in some way?"

I turned back around and made sure to look him right in the eye. "No, of course you didn't. I'm flattered actually."

"No, you're uncomfortable. And fidgety…and I'd like to know why so I don't make the same mistake again."

"You didn't…it's fine. Really. Fine. If I am a little fidgety, maybe…maybe it's because I'm just not used to taking a compliment like that." Again I smiled, but then turned about to grab the coffee pot. "Where's your mug?"

He came closer and held out his cup to me and I could see he wanted to say something more…but he just let nodded his thanks and sat down at the table. I followed suit, settling into the chair opposite. He took a sip and then sat motionless for a moment, the cup braced in his hands before finally setting it down on the table and holding out a hand to me. I dropped my hand into his without hesitation. His thumb stroked the bridge of my fingers softly, making a couple of passes before giving it a little squeeze. "What shall we do today?"

Hardly expecting that question, I laughed a little in surprise and said, "Um…I don't know. The weather's supposed to be very fine today. What about packing a lunch and doing something outdoors."

"We haven't taken that boat tour I was telling you about. If we hurry we might just make it."

"Sounds great. I can be ready in ten minutes…the lunch might take a little longer, though."

He shook his head and after swallowing another mouthful of coffee said, "There's a little dockside café that can take care of that. Let me make a couple of phone calls to make sure they're not full up and we'll head out as soon as you're ready."

"Deal."

"Oh, and Sara?"

"Yes?"

"You'll probably take a tote bag, right?"

"Yes."

"Pack a sweater, an umbrella and some sunglasses."

I nodded, already of a mind to do so. "Yep. What about you? Do you have an emergency kit?"

"I'm covered. Mom always keeps a small back pack for this very thing on a hook by the back door. I'll just take a quick look through it to make sure it's ready to go but she's usually keeps it stocked. Oh, but I will need a sweater. Grab one from my suitcase, will you?"

"Sure thing," I called out over my shoulder. I strode into the bedroom, downing more coffee on the way then set my mug on the nightstand while I got ready. A quick twist of my hair produced a ponytail which I secured with an elastic and a couple of strokes with the brush twirled my wild curls into some semblance of neatness. I washed my face and brushed my teeth and applied only the lightest touch of mascara to my eyes. I knew from experience that there was little point in adding any shadow or blush. My skin didn't hold make-up all that well in this humidity so I simply didn't bother. It was an easy thing to find my tote bag, the two requested sweaters and my sunglasses. I was just about to head back to the kitchen when I realized I should probably exchange my flip flops for runners and made an about face back to the suitcase. I rummaged through, finally locating the pair I packed at the bottom of the bag and made short work of putting them on. I repacked what I'd taken out during my search but paused when an odd sensation of something being a little off hit me. I frowned, intently, staring at the case with a small pile of t-shirts in my hands, not sure why I was feeling that way, but since I couldn't figure out what was wrong, I dropped the pile back in the bag and moved on.

"Gil," I called out as I approached the main room, "did you get us spots? Oh, sorry," I whispered, seeing that he was still on the phone. I waited by the door, listening as he finished up, thinking how cute he looked in his jeans and black t-shirt, bent over the counter as he spoke. It wasn't often I got a chance to see him this casual and let's face it, from this angle. Hmmm.

"Sara?"

I looked up, startled from my thoughts. "Ohumm…what?"

"I said, we're all set. You were a million miles away."

I shook my head, sure I was blushing a little. "No…not nearly that far," I told him. I hoisted my bag. "I'm ready." I slung it over my shoulder and waited expectantly. When he didn't say anything I frowned. "What? Do I have a stain or something?"

He shook his head, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "No."

"Then what?"

He tilted his head to one side, still staring at me. "Sara…dressed like that…in sneakers and shorts, with your hair back…you don't look a day over nineteen."

_Ahhhh…so that was it_. "Well, Dr. Grissom, thank you for that lovely compliment, but you and I both know I am hardly nineteen." I flashed him a breezy grin and opened the front door. "First one to the car gets to drive."


	3. Chapter 2

Intermezzo

Part II

There is nothing in the world like standing in the bow of a boat feeling the air rush your face as you speed through open water. It's a sensation that can only be improved by having a strong, firm, masculine frame pressed against yours as it happens. You can imagine how blissfully happy I was at that moment.

It brought back so many memories of the family boat rides we used to take before I went to Harvard. It was probably the one thing I missed most about not living in Tamales Bay (besides Lexie and Zach of course). Zach had a small boat that we would take out four of five times every summer and I would stand at the front, much as I was now, clutching the rail with my eyes closed as the boat zipped through the waves. With all the changes in the past few years, we'd only managed to fit a couple of rides in when I'd visited in between school and work. I hadn't realized until now how much I missed them. So, there, standing in Gil's arms, I decided that the next time I talked to Lexie I would make a point of planning a family day trip. Speaking of Gil…maybe I could talk him into coming along.

He seemed so comfortable here as he spoke about points of interest that we passed and told anecdotes about some of the things he used to do as a child. The beach house had belonged to his grandfather then and he had spent the majority of his summers here getting into trouble…as he put it. His mother would come up on the weekends and would spend whatever vacation time she could but for the most part, it was just Gil and his grandfather…fishing, collecting shells on the beach…exploring. It sounded idyllic and I told him so and he shrugged and squeezed me tighter, not answering. I couldn't see his face so I had to assume that Gil was agreeing with me but I wasn't sure. Then he dropped back into his narrative and the moment was lost.

"There's the rock I climbed when I was seven and tumbled down practically the second I got to the top. Lost two teeth in that little adventure," he murmured in my ear after pointing to the shore. "Grandfather was anything but pleased. He lost two hours of research time waiting with me in emergency care."

I winced in sympathy for the little boy he had been. "That must have hurt dreadfully."

"Enough that I took out several books from the local library and studied them manically so that it would never happen again."

That made me grin. "Didn't stop you from climbing, huh?"

"No. I don't give up easily on anything that is important to me." There was another squeeze of a hug as if he were making certain that I got the implied double entendre in his words. "My grandfather used to call me 'jack-ass stubborn'," he continued. "I prefer to think of myself as determined."

Somewhere around forty minutes later the captain pointed out a secluded beach area and told us we'd be stopping for a while so people could stretch their legs and have a bit of lunch. "This is our stop," Gil said quietly, and reluctantly pulled away from me to gather up the basket we'd purchased from the café and his backpack. I picked up my tote and before long we were stepping onto the dock and listening to the captain's final instructions.

"There's a wonderful stretch of beach that way folks, just beyond that little bend. A hill up to your right that has a view of the whole cove and just back over, a little copse of trees that offers plenty of grassy patches and shade. Don't wander far if you don't know the area. You're due back on the boat in ninety minutes. Be responsible and be on time out of curtsey for your fellow passengers." The captain was firm in his warning but since it was accompanied by a broad smile, no one took offense.

I looked up at Gil, squinting a little in the bright sunlight. "Do you have a plan?"

He nodded smugly. "I do," he said then nudged my shoulder. "Up this way."

'This way' turned out to be a narrow, winding path that led to a tiny overhang that was almost totally blinded on all sides by fragrant bushes. "What are these," I asked, bending down to sniff a bloom.

"I don't know," he replied. "Never was interested enough to figure that out. We'll have to look it up when we get home."

I grinned then, liking the words he'd used. It just sounded so…domestic and…simple. It touched something deeply in that part of my self that I rarely connected with but then, it shouldn't be all that surprising, now should it? I'd known for a while that Gil was one of the few people on earth that knew how to reach me in just such a way. As we spread the heavy duty picnic blanket on the ground and went through the process of setting up for lunch, I let my mind slide through little fantasies of us together…and how good it could be if we could get passed all this personal crap that was standing in the way. Being away from the real world had afforded me a chance to think and reevaluate some of my decisions with regard to both my personal life and professional goals. Some of the things that I thought were set in stone were now looking a little more flexible. I think that the fact that we'd survived a near-death experience had something to do with it. At first, my reaction had been panic…only natural, I suppose…but time and distance had allowed me to see that perhaps there were alternatives I could explore to bring things back on an even keel. I had told him…that terrible day in my apartment…that I was going to try and I wasn't about to back out of that promise now.

I suppose the main thing that I'd managed to come to terms with is that if there was ever a person on the face of the planet that I could bare my soul to, it would be Gil. I trusted him. It was as simple as that. I trusted the bond we had and the closeness we shared and while I might not be quite ready to lay the entirety of my past on him, I had come to believe that it was important for me to tell him some of what I'd been through. What's more, I'd come to believe that he could handle the truth…that he wouldn't treat me like a freak or a victim. He respected me enough not to push me for answers even though I know it bothered him that I wouldn't let him in…in that way. He loved me. I knew that now so I owed him some explanations if we were going to continue to see each other. Lexie had been right. Not telling him would be setting us up for disaster and I didn't want this relationship to fail because of my personal demons. She might have been right about something else, too. Therapy might be a good choice, especially considering recent events. I wasn't a child any longer. Surely there was someone out there I could speak with who would be able to help me work through things but wouldn't be traumatized in the process.

I was dealing with so much right now. The guilt of taking a life – and no, it didn't matter that it was in self –defense (my mind saw no distinction, a fact that in itself testified to how screwed up I was in my thought process), the frustration of not having caught Selina…the anger I still felt so intensely every time I thought of her…this business with Gil…If there was ever a moment in which I knew things were beyond my ability to cope…this was it. Anyway, I wasn't ready to journey back in time with Gil just yet, but maybe, with a little help, I would be soon.

"You're quiet," Gil said, munching on an egg salad sandwich. "I thought you would enjoy this."

I swallowed a chunk of my own hurriedly, jumping to contradict him. "I am. I am. This is just a perfect day for it and such a lovely spot. Guess I'm just…soaking it all in."

He shook his head and then leaned in to give my nose a gently flick with his finger. "Your brain went in hyperdrive about six minutes ago and you haven't said a word since." He stroked a few wisps of hair out of my eyes then let his hand linger, warm palm against the swell of my cheek. "You look a little tired," he told me softly, "Absolutely beautiful…but tired."

"I'm fine, Gil. Really."

For a moment, he looked at me so intensely that I almost pulled away from his touch, then his eyes softened and he said, "You haven't been sleeping."

Four little words. That's all it was. Four little words but I knew…I knew that the peace we had found between us was about to be broken. And I tried to stop it. I did. "Gil, I think I've slept more here in the past few days than I have in the past few weeks." It wasn't a lie, unfortunately. It just wasn't the whole truth. I leaned forward and kissed him, letting my lips linger as I drew him closer to me.

"Somehow that answer doesn't reassure me."

"I could lie if that would make you feel better."

His eyebrows rose. "No, I think we have enough to deal with without making things more complicated, don't you?" He pressed his lips into my shoulder. "Come here."

"I am here," I replied laughing softly and nipped his ear to prove it.

"No, closer."

"Closer? Than this?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Like this," he said and shifted so that he was able to slide my entire body across his lap.

My heart jumped into my throat. Silly, I know, to have such a strong reaction but there it was. The maneuver had taken me by surprise and I wasn't sure if I liked being 'trapped' in his arms in that way. No one…and I mean NO ONE…had ever held me like this before and I was shocked to realize that the lack was due to the fact that I'd never let anyone try it. It was hardly a mystery, I suppose. There was a certain vulnerability in that pose that my survival instincts would have rebelled against on principle. But this was Gil, right? Surely I could let my guard down for him.

For a moment I sat stock still…not even breathing really…while I debated whether or not to pull away.

Gil shot me a look, very much aware that I was dealing with something. He pressed a hand to my chest. "Your heart's going a mile a minute."

I let out a breath. "I know."

"Why?" When I shook my head, he pushed, "Why, Sara?"

"I-I don't know! It's beyond me. I feel…"

"What?"

"I feel a little..."

"Confined?"

"Yes, if you must know! And very stupid for feeling that way on top of it."

"Why stupid?"

"That I don't know. I mean, I do know…but it's you, right? I shouldn't feel that way with you. So it's stupid."

He shook his head. "No, it's just par for the course."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Never mind. It's not important. I'll let you go if you want me to but I'd really like to sit here and enjoy what might be the last warm day of autumn. More importantly, I want you to relax and enjoy it with me."

Put like that it sounded like such a simple thing…which of course made me feel even worse. "What about the captain and his orders? Aren't we due back on the boat in a few minutes?"

"I already made arrangements with him to return on the later trip. Pretty soon, we'll have the whole beach to ourselves for a couple of hours."

"Oh," I said, "well, I guess that takes care of that problem."

"Yes, now, let's see if we can take care of the other one." His fingers found the small of my neck and soon he was treating me to a light massage.

I moaned a little breathy trail of sound and let my forehead drop against his shoulder. "That feels very…nice…Gil."

"You're so tense, Sara," he said. "You need to let go. Just close your eyes and let go of everything."

I rubbed my head against his shirt…wanting to give him what he asked but just not quite able to manage it. "You have no idea what you're asking."

"On the contrary, I know exactly and I'm not asking, Sara, I'm begging."

My head lifted, the need to see his face so strong I had no choice but to do so. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it's okay to let your guard down once in a while. That it's okay to let someone else take control every now and then. No, it's more than 'okay'. It's absolutely necessary to give yourself permission to relax!"

"I am relaxed…or I was before we started this. All I've been doing for the last five days is relaxing."

"Stop telling me what I want to hear or what you think I need to hear because I'm not buying it. I see right through you, Sara Sidle and I'm sorry if that scares you but it's the way things are."

"Gil…I'm not…I-I-don't even know how to answer you. I don't understand! Where is this coming from?"

He closed his eyes briefly and I almost told him not to say another word but we were into this now and I had to know. When he finally had the resolve to look at me again, regret and determination fought for dominance in his eyes. "I found the sketchbook, Sara. You have no idea how much I wish I hadn't…but it's done now and I can't undo it."

"You found my sketchbook," I repeat numbly, suddenly chilled despite the warmth of the sun. "And you looked through it?" I didn't wait for him to respond. "Of course you did. That's what this is all about, isn't it? The comments about my hands…your mother…this little trip down memory lane. It's all a set up to get me to open up, isn't it? Isn't it?!"

To give him credit, he didn't try to deny it or defend himself like some other people might have. He just nodded solemnly and waited for my response.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: This part has been a while in coming...but I'll guarentee it consumed me for the better part of two weeks. Sorry for the delay.

Intermezzo

Part III

"I thought you were different." I made to get up but he held me firm.

"Sara-"

"You went through my things!" Once more I pushed at him but with pretty much the same result.

"No I didn't. What kind of person do you take me for? I would never invade your privacy that way." His hands found the sides of my face, his touch almost reverent. "Listen…honey…just listen. I wouldn't-"

"Then how…?"

His hands dropped away after I snapped at him. "It was on the deck this morning, when I got up. Open. Selina's face screaming up at me in stark black and white!"

"That's not possible, Gil."

"Oh believe me, it is."

My volume level jumped. "No, you're lying-"

His jumped more. "I'm not lying. Scared the living hell out of me. Half a mug of coffee went all over my clothes." He took a deep breath, and tried for a calmer tone. "Allow me to congratulate you on the accuracy of your rendering. Believe me when I say I've never seen anything like it."

"You weren't supposed to." God, I was practically snarling, I was so…mad. No, not mad. I was hurt. He'd hurt me. I was stupid enough to trust him and he hurt me. Now all I wanted was to hurt him back. Nausea fought with pain and I was ill over the sensation. "Don't you get it? No one is supposed to. That book was mine you never should have gone poking around in my things like that!"

"I'm telling you I didn't-"

"But you had to…to see this. I had it tucked away. I always put it back."

"Well, I guess this is a first for you."

"No. NO! I didn't forget! I never forget! I always remember to put it away."

"Well, maybe this time you were too tired and you did."

"It's ingrained. Second nature. I never forget. Nobody's supposed to see it."

"Why, Sara? Why is everything such a big secret with you?"

"Leave it alone, Gil."

"I can't. This isn't just going to go away. We have to talk about this."

"Please…don't-"

"Why are you so protective over this book? Why?"

"Because nobody understands what it means!" I bellowed, boiling over in frustration. We stared at each other then; two people who rarely had a harsh word between them were suddenly in the middle of a shouting match. No conscious thought at all of who might hear and what they might think. I couldn't believe I'd let myself get that far out of control. It was my turn to back down. I looked out at the water, watching it rise and fall, knowing he was waiting for me to explain further and too tired to deny him any longer. I'd put this off as long as I could. Maybe this was how it was meant to be. How it was supposed to end for us. "Nobody…understands, Gil. And because they don't understand it, it scares them. I scare them."

"Is that what you think? That I'm going to let some drawings chase me away from your side? You do, don't you? It's happened before." He didn't need me to answer to confirm his theory. "Dammit, this is such a mess. Okay, wait. Let's get one thing straight here. Yes, the pictures scared me but only because I was scared for you…not of you…do you understand? Do you see the difference?"

I did but I wasn't convinced. Others had said similar things before and I believed them only to find out later that they'd been trying to manipulate me. Time would tell. It always did. Part of me wanted to say those things out loud just to see his reaction but I knew better. Arguing over this wasn't the right thing to do. Best to try to control the damage. So, instead I said, as rationally as I could, "You're telling me that you didn't go through my suitcase."

"Yes."

"How do I know that's the truth?" I tried to ask the question as honestly as I could…with no accusation. I could tell the sharp blade my words sliced deep but he accepted my need to ask with very little anger. Almost as if he'd expected to me to ask.

"Sara. Look at me. You know in your heart I wouldn't do that. Not to you or to anybody else for that matter. I know you well enough to know that that would be absolutely the wrong way to deal with this. I get the fact that trust is a very big part of this issue. What would I have to gain?"

I shrugged. "Then I don't understand this at all. I know I put it away last night. How the hell did it get outside? It just doesn't make any sense."

"Have you ever…have you been known to sleep walk?"

I shook my head. "No. From all accounts I've never done that. I don't sleep deeply enough, I guess." The thought was a bit terrifying because, unfortunately, it was a logical explanation for this strange behavior but I really hoped that that wasn't the case. "I always wake up in the same place I fall asleep…No, I'm sure someone would have mentioned it before now if I did. There's been plenty of opportunity," I finished bitterly.

"Sara…if you didn't leave it there then I…I don't have an explanation other than to say again, it wasn't where you say you left it." He made a swipe for his backpack and pulled out the item under debate. "This…" he said, holding it out to me, "…was out in the open and…I know I shouldn't have looked through it but…my god, Sara." He shoveled a hand through his hair. "There must be fifty sketches in here. Each one more…" He broke off, and I know it was to stop himself from saying the wrong thing.

"They're awful. I know," I said, opening the book and thumbing through the pages. I found the picture of Selina Gil had been talking about and eyed it critically. "I can't get her mouth right, you know? There's something off about it. I keep going back to this one to try and fix it but...Pretty soon there won't be much paper left because of all the erasing I've been doing." I flipped through a couple more sketches, stopping a few pages later. Steiger's prone form with the vicious shard of glass protruding from his chest practically jumped from the parchment. "This one's just about perfect. Well, it should be. I had quite a bit of time to study him as he died. All that's missing is the blood. I have a special red pencil for that, but I left it at home so…I haven't put it in yet." I looked up from the book quickly, hoping…oh I don't know…to catch some look of horror or revulsion on Gil's face…something I could take offense with that would stop me from feeling so exposed…but there was nothing like that there. I saw compassion…not pity. Empathy…not disgust. It confused me and I dropped my gaze first.

He extended a finger and traced the line of Steiger's shoe. "Is this what you see when you close your eyes-?"

"Currently? Yes." I threw the book away and it skittered along the sand.

"-why you haven't slept a full night in bed with me since we came here…what you do all those long hours that you're away?"

"Yes. Can we go now? I think I've had enough beach time for one afternoon." I pushed my way from his lap and this time he let me go. I began cleaning up our debris and though I didn't look back at him, I knew his eyes followed my every move. "I'm not one of your bugs under the microscope. You could stop studying me and help."

"We've got time," he said, not moving. "The boat won't be back for a couple of hours remember?"

_No, I'd forgotten that, _I groused silently but didn't pause in what I was doing. "You could still help." When he remained as he was, I muttered, "Fine," and went on with my tidying. "I hope this potato salad will keep. There's so much here that it's a shame to waste it."

"Stop it, Sara."

"Oh and this chicken, too. Maybe we can find some shade-"

"We're not done with this."

I folded a napkin. "Yes, we are."

"We need to talk about this."

I folded another. "Maybe you do, but I don't."

"So that's it, hmmm? You've made your decision. I don't get a say in this."

I threw the rest of the linens into the basket. "No, why should you?"

"Maybe because I was there, Sara! Maybe because I'm the one person on the face of this planet who actually has a clue what you're dealing with!" He was moving now. In one angry stride he had reached the place where I was kneeling and pulled me up until we were almost nose to nose. "You think you have the monopoly on post-traumatic stress? Do you think that you are the only person here who is having trouble making sense of everything that happened?"

"I-I-"

"This isn't about ancient history, Sara. You can keep all the secrets about that that you want and I'll learn to live with it but this is current. This is now! And it's not just you going through hell but it's me too. We're both struggling to find some way to cope with what those two monsters put us through and I don't understand…" he paused, and shook his head, "…scratch that. I do understand that you're not used to leaning on anyone else when you're going through crap like this but I thought…I thought this would be different. I thought we'd be able to help each other. Talk things over. I didn't think I'd end up facing yet another wall that you've erected to keep me out."

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I wanted to tell him to leave me alone…but I couldn't. He was right. I'd shut him out completely…hadn't even thought about the pain he must be going through because I was so caught up in my own hell I couldn't see his. What kind of person does something like that to another person? No wonder he was angry. No wonder he pushed me into this confrontation. "Why…why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you?" He let go of me, and shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked to the edge of the bluff. "When I saw that picture of Selina…it was like you'd been inside my head and ripped it from my brain. And that one of Steiger…I've seen that one too…in here," he said, tapping a finger to his temple, "…only it's you lying there instead of him because…I wasn't there to help you."

I went to him then, and wrapped my arms around his waist. I burrowed my face into his back trying to erase his hurt. "Gil…I'm so…so sorry. I didn't know."

"No, how could you? You weren't there." Despite the starkness of his words, his arms came up to encircle mine and held me fast.

Another fanged wave of guilt rode my spine. "You're right," I told him. "It was inexcusable. I don't – I'm not always capable of acting…responsibly…when I'm in this mode, you know? It's like my survival instinct kicks in and it's every man for himself. It's very selfish…very wrong… and I know it's one of many reasons why I've been unable to sustain a steady relationship for any length of time. There aren't many people who can face the dark things we see without having it warp them in some way. Trust me, I speak from experience."

"You've got to give me a chance, Sara. You've got to let me at least try."

I swallowed hard, feeling tears well up as I answered. "I know I'm not being fair…it's just…You're a very strong man, Gil. Intelligent, courageous, moral…every thing I ever hoped for in a friend…and a lover…and the idea of involving you in my problems…it just makes me ill."

"It's part of you, Sara. It's a risk I'm willing to take if it means we can finally get beyond this secrecy."

"This ugliness follows me around, Gil. It's like I'm a magnet for it…attracting it no matter how hard I try to escape it."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. I wish I did." I sighed then, and closed my eyes, clinging to him in every way possible. The breeze rustled through the leaves of the bushes that surrounded us. In the distance I could hear harbor bells and pleasure crafts. The world went on but we stood still.

Gil's voice, when it came sounded so distant. "I love roller coasters. You know that, right? I've told you about that little obsession of mine?"

I nodded against his back but remained silent.

"I love the rush and the noise and the speed and…since I came to work at the lab in Vegas, it's gotten to the point that I can't pass a rollercoaster without wanting to drop everything I'm doing and ride until I'm sick." I felt a little chuckle bubble from him. It was small and cautious but present all the same and it chased off a little of the chill that was coating my insides. "I've gotten to be on a first name basis with the operator of the Manhattan Express. That's the one in front of the New York, New York Hotel and Casino. It shakes a little but it's a decent ride. There's this one moment, just before you hit the down where you're looking out at the skyline and Vegas is this stunning, spectacle of colour and light and you can look past the crime and the filth…and the perversion. Then you're racing to the earth and it all blurs…and it helps." His finger began tracing a pattern up and down my arm, delicately, but I'm not even sure he was aware that he was doing it. "You see, it never used to be this bad but some of the crimes we've dealt with lately…at the Vegas lab have been…disturbing…more so than what I had to deal with at the last one I worked in. Or at least, they've affected me more than the others and I-I have found that I need to ride more often to counter it. Do you see where I'm heading with this?"

I didn't really but I nodded again just to keep him talking.

Apparently, I didn't do a good job of fooling him because he said, "I've always loved fast rides, Sara. Even when I was a kid. Before I started working in the lab I rode them for the thrill. Now I ride them to forget…until I can't think. I ride them to block out the terrible things I've seen and to gather the strength to face day after day of the same."

"They're your sketchbook," I murmured, awed by how we'd managed to go from anger to empathy in just a matter of seconds.

"In essence, yes. Tell me…is that why you draw? To forget?"

This time I shook my head. "I can't control my dreams. For as long as I can remember I've been prone to nightmares. Some of the professionals I've consulted attribute a lot of the blame for it to this crazy…awful…memory I have for details. I notice everything. I don't mean to...I just can't seem to filter. I don't even realize I'm doing it most of the time. And in the dreams…the images are so vivid, Gil. Every detail somehow magnified. I've tried just about every method known to man to subvert their effect on me…but nothing's worked. The only thing that comes close is sketching."

"Tell me," he said again, turning around to hold me face to face.

I wished we'd stayed the way we were. Somehow, this made it harder. "I thought I was past this, Gil. Really. If I hadn't believed I was done with them there's no way I would have let things go as far as they have-"

His arms wrapped me tightly. "Shhhh. It's okay. Just…tell me."

I hesitated, hardly believing I was explaining this but then, the words began tumbling from me and I couldn't have stopped them if I'd tried. "It's difficult to…explain…I don't even really get it myself but it seems like the more images…the more detail I can capture on paper, the less control they have in my subconscious." I laughed humorlessly. "I mean, I can't sleep anyway so I might as well be doing something constructive, right? Better than waking up in a cold sweat or screaming your head off and waking up everyone else in the house night after night until they run their course."

His hand had moved to the small of my neck, treating the knots of tension there with a light massage. "You're very good."

"My mother was better." I said with a shudder, remembering the drawings she papered her asylum wall with. If mine were 'good' hers were masterpieces. "I don't enjoy it, Gil. There have been periods in my life when drawing gave me pleasure but the nightmares have twisted what should have been something enjoyable into something hideous. I do it because I have to. I do it to find a little peace." The last word was hardly more than a whisper and I let it float away to be swallowed by the sound of the ocean waves. For many minutes we just stood there, intimately entwined, surrounded by the noise of water and the seagulls, eyes closed. I could hear the steady rhythm of his heart beating in his chest and it soothed me, his calm intake of breath and I took strength from its even measure. "Please...don't ask me anything else. Not right now."

It took him a second to respond but when he did, it made me love him even more. "No, no more questions. Not right now." He dropped a kiss into my hair that was so gentle and caring that more tears trickled down my cheeks in response.

"Gil?"

"Hmmm?"

"I'm…I'm sorry-" I choked out, not exactly sure what I was apologizing for but needing to say the words. The tears were falling fast and furious now and I couldn't stop them.

"Hey…hey…there's no need for that. Not here. Not between us." His voice was almost hypnotic. "I should have handled this better, Sara. I should have waited for you…but it's done now and I wouldn't change it because that would mean that my worrying about you would still be eating at me. At least now I know some of what's going on." His voice settled into this lilting rumble and I soaked it in, entranced by the soothing sound. "It makes it easier, Sara," he continued. "So much easier to be able to understand…a little more. Don't worry about it now, though. Let's just sit back down and forget all about it."

"Just like that?" I asked, scrubbing a weary hand across my wet cheek.

"Yes, just like that." He mimicked my movement on my other cheek and then said, "I want you to try something for me. Can you try something for me?"

"Maybe," I said, not willing to commit until I knew what he was asking.

He let me go partially to take my head and lead me back to the rock where we'd been sitting. He settled onto the ground, still holding my hand and then looked up at me with such warmth I was undone. "Will you sit with me…and let me hold you until the boat returns? Please?"

My knees went weak and I folded myself into his embrace, overwhelmed by the simple request. "Don't let go, okay? Just…don't let go." My words were a watery jumble but he understood me all the same.

"I won't, I promise. I've got you."

"This feels so good," I told him with a hiccupping little yawn, surprised to find that all of the previous awkwardness I'd felt about this position was now gone. "God, I'm tired."

He wrapped me closer as I relaxed further. "Then close your eyes. Close your eyes and go to sleep."

I wanted to, believe me, I did, but it wasn't fair to drift off without giving him fair warning of what might happen.

"Gil…I'm really tired. I don't know if I can…I don't know what's going to happen if I…" I broke off,

"Shhh…doesn't matter," he droned back, almost hypnotically. "We'll deal with whatever happens together. Everything's okay. Just go to sleep."

The knot of unease released from the pit of my stomach and I gave myself over to his request, letting his words soothe me into the first really deep sleep I'd had since this whole mess with Selina had begun. Only one little thought hammered at me. Gil had said my sketchpad was found on the deck. If I hadn't left it behind and he hadn't retrieved it from my suitcase, how had it gotten there? But then, just as quick as it had sprung into being, it dissipated and I fell fast asleep.


	5. Chapter 4

Intermezzo

Part 4

Later, that night, when Gil and I returned from the beach, we made slow, sensuous, heart-felt love; the kind that seeps into your bones in a way that you know you'll remember those moments for the rest of your life. I don't know if it was motivated by need…or guilt…or desperation…or maybe a whole combination of those emotions but I do know that I didn't care. We needed each other…well, I needed him…in a way I'd never needed anyone before and what's more, I wasn't afraid to let him know it.

The sad part about the whole thing is that I'm not sure I'd ever been that open…that vulnerable…with another person like that in my entire life.

The best part about it was that I wasn't scared.

While it was true that I still had no real explanation as to how my sketchbook ended up where it had, none of that mattered because I believed Gil implicitly and there was such a unique freedom in that bond of trust.

It changed me. In little ways, sure, but I noticed them all the same.

I wasn't as guarded. I didn't measure every single word that came out of my mouth. In fact, over the course of the next week, I had whole conversations with him that were spontaneous and uninhibited. I didn't realize I was doing it at first but it came to my attention while we were having lunch a couple of days later when he was telling me about fishing off the docks when he was ten.

"…practically laughing at me, this scrawny ten year old, geeky little kid, with his bargain store pole and his plastic baggie full of processed cheese slices. You could tell they were thinking I was some kind of an idiot." Gil smiled then, practically laughing at himself.

"Processed cheese? Really?"

"Yeah. Fish around the dock love it. Don't know why exactly but I do know that I came home with six good size fish for dinner while the other guys, who were using standard bait, came home with one or two."

I grinned in appreciation. "Let me guess, next day some other were trying the cheese bait too?"

Gil nodded smugly. "Had the whole dock gang converted by the end of the week. They still thought I was a little strange, and way too quiet, but had to give me credit for the way I could fish."

"Cheese slices. Don't think I would have ever thought of that. I suppose you did some experiments and compiled extensive data…" I broke off as he shook his head. "Okay, then what?"

"I went down to the dock earlier that week…my grandfather wanted me out of the house because he was working through an important part of his latest thesis paper…" he said so matter-of-factly that my heart lurched in sympathy for the loneliness buried in his words. "Anyway, I packed myself a sandwich and decided to go fishing. I was using bait and having no luck so mid way through the day, I dropped my pole and sat down to eat. Part of my cheese sandwich went into the water. Couple of fish swam right up and went after it so I decided to try it on my hook and well…there you go."

"Oh my gosh, same kind of thing happened to me in the chem lab one day. We weren't supposed to eat in there but…I was in rush and things weren't going right and I was putting in every hour I could in the lab to turn things around."

If Gil felt any surprise regarding the fact that I was adding something personal to the conversations, he kept it well hidden, but I knew it was there all the same. "This was in high school? Sounds more like college."

I shook my head, downing some of the stew that we'd cooked. "I kind of had special permission because I was working on an extra credit project for my Harvard scholarship and I had access to the lab at all hours to complete it."

Gil leaned in, totally absorbed by the fact that I was voluntarily telling a story from my childhood. "I would have killed to have that kind of access."

I shrugged. "I had an 'in'. Lexie was my science teacher and she really knew her stuff. She had a couple of students looking to careers in science. We all had access when we needed it. She was behind us all the way. She has good instincts…especially when it comes to teenagers and how they're wired." Without warning an image of the now deceased Rick Spalding danced in my mind's eye. I looked away instinctively, not ready to share that story just yet and went on with my narrative. "Had me figured out before I knew what the hell was going on. She's one in a million."

"She cares a lot about you. And she's very proud of your accomplishments."

I flushed a little at the comment. "My very own personal cheering squad. I don't know what would have happened to me without her coming into my life when she did."

"Go on," he urged and the shocker was that I did.

"Well, I hit a snag at one point…I can't remember why exactly, but one of the chemicals had an adverse reaction to what I had assumed was going to happen. I know I made a rookie mistake of panicking and adding more without really thinking about it and then in seconds knew I'd totally ruined hours worth of work by jumping the gun. Anyway, I'd been eating, you know, making the most of my wait time while the chemicals 'reacted' with each other and part of my sandwich dropped into the mixture when I messed up but I got the reaction I wanted! Or close enough to it to make me sit up and take notice. Figured out after that my starch and protein levels hadn't been in the right proportion in order to balance out the effects of the other chemicals. Don't know if it would have been that obvious if I hadn't 'contaminated' my results. I had to start back at scratch but at least I knew where I'd gone wrong in the first place." I looked up from my soup and caught him staring at me with a sweet but goofy expression on his face. "What?"

He shook himself out of it and said, "Nothing. Just trying to picture you as a teenager in your high school chem lab. Though truthfully, it really isn't that much of a stretch." His eyes traveled down my form intently, taking in the ponytail, shorts and t-shirt I'd shrugged my way into that morning. The combination had become my standard attire at the beach house because it was cool and comfortable. I didn't think much about it, but apparently he was still trying to deal with it.

I rolled my eyes. "Please, not one of my better memories."

"I bet you were cute."

"Try too skinny, too tall and all angles."

He stood and rounded the table to my side and then bent to paste a sticky kiss on my lips. "Very cute," he said, decisively and proceeded into the kitchen to start clearing away our mess.

After my stomach had stopped its silly, ridiculously happy flip-flopping, I joined him. It wasn't until later that I'd realized how easy it had been to talk to him about my high school years. Now, admittedly, it wasn't anything of real significance, like the explosion that took the football captain's life or Lexie's terrible fight back to health, but it was more than I'd shared with anyone else and I had to be satisfied with that.

* * *

"Sara?"

"MMMmmph?"

"Sara, I need you to come out here for a moment, please."

I blinked, and made a half-assed slap for the alarm clock. I located it on the third attempt and squinted at the numbers until they swam into focus. 5:00 am. What the hell was he doing up at 5:00 am? Realizing I hadn't asked that question out loud, I rolled over and diplomatically choked out. "Gil… little early. Can't it wait?"

"No. Please."

There was something in his tone that had me pulling back the sheets without another word. I swung my robe away from the chair I'd laid it on last night and scuffed my way to the patio door. I padded over to his side without a sound and looked around. My scan of the deck hadn't progressed far before I caught sight of what had obviously alarmed him enough to wake me from a deep sleep at this awful hour. "Well…shit."

"Yeah. My thought too."

"What is it doing here?"

He sighed, then, scrubbing a hand over his cheek. "I don't know. I got up to get a drink of water and noticed the paper flapping in the breeze. You know, if I had to make a guess, I'd be pressed to say it's in almost the same place I found it the other morning." He looked at me then, asking without words if I knew anything about it.

I found my head shaking before I even realized I was doing it. "I don't-I don't know what to say. I haven't used it, Gil. Haven't even taken it out to look at it. I said I wouldn't." In the four days since our little 'discussion' on the beach, Gil and I had come to an agreement about my nightmares…well, I suppose with regard to his too, though that hadn't really been the subject under discussion at the time. The deal was that if I did wake up in the middle of the night, I was supposed to wake him too…and the 'vice versa' thing was certainly implied.

What happened next was up to us. We could talk…we could just roll over and go back to sleep. Didn't matter. If I still felt the need to go sketch, I could. No problem. He just wanted to be included in the process. I agreed…reluctantly at first…but then the idea sort of grew on me and I began to feel a little better about it. There was a certain sense of comfort to the idea that I wouldn't be facing this stint of dreams alone…and since we'd both been involved, there was no guilt about involving an innocent bystander in my problems. Definitely a first for me.

According to Gil, the important thing was that we weren't hiding things from each other and on that point I certainly had to agree.

That first night, I was startled awake a couple of times, which was unusual for me but I attributed that to the restlessness I was feeling about our 'new approach' and the fact that I actually tried to go back to sleep after the moment had passed. We did exchange words of comfort…but for the most part, after I calmed enough to temper my nerves, we just held each other. That in and of itself was a huge break-through for me. Intimacy was always a struggle for me, especially when I was feeling so exposed and vulnerable but in that quiet, accepting way of his, Gil selflessly let me set the pace and I was able to deal.

When this all started, he had called it an 'experiment'. I had silently called it a waste of time because I'd tried various therapeutic rituals before but I was pleased to find out that at least in some small way, I'd been wrong. Just goes to show you the difference one person – the right person – can make in your life. Besides, at the end of our chat, I had decided that it wouldn't hurt to give him exactly what he asked for. After all, if he was still interested in pursuing a relationship with me, he might as well know exactly what he was getting into, right?

Needless to say, neither one of us had gotten much sleep in the past three nights but at least it felt like we were trying to deal with the problem rather than burry it and pretend that it didn't exist. I really felt like we – well, 'I' – was making progress. At least I did, until I saw the sketchbook.

I bent at the knee, my intention to pick up the pad and close it but stayed my hand when he said, "No. Wait."

From my crouch I looked up at him and asked, "Why?"

"You're sure you didn't touch it?"

I was going to answer positively but a nagging little doubt had me phrase my answer differently, "I don't – I don't think I did. Well, not consciously." I sat back on my heels, wrapping my arms around my knees. "Maybe I am sleep-walking. Cripes. That's all I need."

"Agreed, but…though it seems like a logical explanation, I'm not inclined to just accept it to be true. Listen…let me grab something from my kit."

My head dropped back as a laugh gurgled in my throat. "Your kit? You brought your kit with you when we were supposed to be on vacation."

He flashed a grin at me. "Yeah. So did you, right?"

Caught, I smirked back at him. "Of course. You never know-"

"-when something might come up." He shook his head and continued out of the room. "We're seriously messed up, you know."

"Oh, I know." I frowned down at the book. My brain had finally managed to catch up to the current course of events. Gil was getting his kit. A natural assumption was that he suspected that the book had had help getting out here and that he suspected it might have been by someone else's hand than ours. Suddenly, the morning air took on a chill that had nothing to do with the cool breeze that rolled in off the coastal waves. Have to admit the thought of me sleep-walking didn't bother me nearly so much in comparison to the idea that someone was in our home without our knowledge. I swallowed down a huge gulp of following up thoughts, determined not to let myself get carried away with this line of assumptions. There would be time enough for that kind of worry if and when Gil came up with something that warranted it.


	6. Chapter 5

Intermezzo

Part V

Gil was back in next to no time, kit in hand. I waited patiently as he dug through his case and withdrew some familiar implements. As he went through the motions of donning gloves and preparing tape strips, I checked out his equipment layout, suddenly as curious about his work habits as I was about the man himself. His kit was meticulously organized…more so than mine and that was saying something. "Wow. And the guys at the lab think I'm a neat-freak. You could give lessons."

He grinned evilly. "I do. In fact, my supervisor at the lab…" he paused for a second as he checked his brush, "…Jim Brass…has me do the orientation for our new lab recruits before they make their first trip into the field."

Having met Jim, I wasn't really surprised that he would have passed that duty on. He seemed to me to be a supervisor who was more involved in the physical and personal parts of CSI work rather than the technical. A leader to be sure but one who knew how to use the strengths of his team to get the job done. Someone who would be comfortable delegating responsibility to make his team that much more effective. "So, you put them through their paces, huh?"

He nodded. "We've adopted the boy scout motto."

"'Be prepared.'"

"Yes. For anything and then some. Sara, I had to deal with some pretty bizarre cases in Los Angeles but Vegas…well, Vegas is another story all together. You never know what that city is going to throw at you and when you consider the desert and mountainous regions…well, there's no room for error. We're fighting climate and nature at every turn when we try to gather evidence…not to say that you don't do that elsewhere in our line of work, but Vegas really challenges you to stay on top of your game." He grabbed a medium sized jar of print powder and carefully began to unscrew the lid. "I'll never understand why some investigators let their kits go and show up to scenes unprepared. There's no excuse for it. Lives depend on what we do…or don't do. Equipment must be ready and in working order. Supplies must be checked and available at a moment's notice because you never know what kind of situation you're going to find yourself in from one scene to the next."

"Preaching to the choir, Gil. Believe me, I've had a stomach-full of sloppy-" I broke off as he'd worked the lid free of the canister and pulled it free to reveal a finely ground red powder. "What in the world is that?"

"Print powder," he answered casually…too casually.

I rolled my eyes. "Well…yes…I sort of figured that out but it's red! Where on earth did you get red print powder?"

"It's something I've been working on."

"Details, Gil."

"I call it, 'Red Creeper'. Here, hold out your hand." He dipped his brush into the dust and then held it above my palm. With a little twirl, he released some of the powder into my hand so I could feel the consistency.

I swirled my finger through it. "Hmmm. Nice. Really fine grain. Magnetic?"

"Yes. I find it adheres better to porous surfaces…like paper and cardboard. Mind you, I use it on plastics as well. This particular formula has surprised me more than once. It's not quite where I want it just yet but I have a feeling, with a little more work, I'll get exactly the composition I want." He positioned his brush a quarter of an inch or so above my sketch book and let the powder sift through the air.

I watched it settle, the screaming red against the harsh black lines of my pencil sketch, transfixed. The paper bled powdered clouds. Bile rose in my throat at the sight. For some reason, despite the fact that I often added red tinting to my drawings, this was…this was hard to stomach, probably because, as opposed to the pencil I normally used, I had no control over where the powder went.

Gil lifted the book off the deck and blew on it gently, then tipped the book to one side to allow the loose powder to slide free. He leaned back to study the results, showing me the book as well. Frowning he said, "Well, we knew that there would be some prints…smudges…from your handling."

I nodded. "They're pretty jumbled. Not really clear or distinct but that makes sense considering the way I hold the pad when I sketch." In fact, there wasn't one intact print to be had. You could see that I'd handled the page multiple times and that there were blurred impressions from where the side of my hand had rested or moved across the paper. Nothing really stood out. "The prints are pretty much where you'd expect them to be."

Gil considered the picture for another moment and then shrugged. "It was a long shot at best, I suppose. We could print more of the book-"

I shook my head, the reaction immediate and without conscious thought. "No. I don't think so. We'd most likely get more of the same." I took it from his hands and shook as much of the powder free as I possibly could. "I should put this in a baggie or something. The powder will get all over my clothes otherwise."

"So that's it. That's all you have to say?"

"What else is there to say? I told you before that I have no idea…at least no recollection of how this got outside." I said this without looking at him while rising to my feet and heading through our room to the kitchen. He followed behind me, physically as silent as could be but that didn't mean I couldn't hear him thinking. I went to the first set of pantry doors and opened the one I knew had a supply of food storage bags inside and slipped the item in question into the plastic envelop with a little more force than necessary. I zipped it closed and repeated the action with a second bag. When I reached for a third, Gil broke his silence.

"Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?"

I shook my head slowly, going so far as to add a fourth bag. "I need a stapler…or at least some tape."

Sensing there was something more to what I was doing that what he'd first assumed, Gil moved to the side and pulled both of my requested items from a cabinet overhead and to the left. He presented the items to me without comment and waited as I punctured the bag with several staples and then sealed the edge with tape. When I would have turned away without a word, he stayed my hand with his, covering mine where it had landed on the counter. "Difficult to open and will make noise if you attempt to do it. You're hoping that if you are sleepwalking, this will wake you up?"

"Or you. I don't know what's happening here, Gil. And I want to know. I need to know. If I can figure out what's going on, I'm sure I'll be able to deal with it and move past it."

We went back to the bedroom and I put the sketchbook back in my usual place at the bottom of my suitcase, very aware of Gil's presence and the knowledge that I was letting him know in a rather obvious manner where I kept it. When at last I straightened from that task, I faced him, arms folded and asked, "Up for a walk?"

"Yeah. Give me a minute to change."

* * * * * * *

I had trouble sleeping the next few nights. While I wasn't bothered with nightmares per se, I was definitely anxious and filled with a nervous energy that wasn't conducive to a good night's rest. That damn book had me so on edge I almost threw it in the trash. The only reason I didn't was that I was hoping for some clue as to the strange events that had happened in the last couple of weeks. Still, my body was a bundle of nerves several times over. Luckily for me, my brilliant boyfriend was more than willing to help…um…channel that energy into a few nocturnal activities that left me deliciously exhausted so I slept whether I really wanted to or not. However, the sleep was usually on the short side and I routinely woke a good hour before he did, too fidgety to stay in bed.

My ribs had healed enough that some of my basic yoga moves were no longer painful so I used the time I had to myself to work out. The pace was painstakingly slow in comparison to my normal pace but well worth it in the end. The injuries had tightened my muscles and thrown my body out of alignment. The stretching and balance exercises went a long way in helping me feel more like my old self and it was through this routine I managed to find an inner peace that had been alluding me since we'd discovered the sketchbook on the deck.

It was during one of these sessions that I managed to formulate a game plan of sorts. We were due to head back to our respective jobs the day after next and though the thought of being separated from Gil was beyond painful, I knew that it was probably necessary until I could gain some perspective. I had made the decision that I was definitely going to go back to therapy. For the first time in my life, I wanted a future and the only way that there was any hope in forging something solid and lasting was for me to do a little mental house-keeping. Gil and I were getting closer and closer and I could see that he was ready to move to the next step. There were times when I caught him watching me with this far off glint in his eyes and I knew…I knew he was thinking about making our arrangement something more…permanent. There was something extra in his touch…his smiles… a warmth and tenderness that often left me speechless with their intensity. I literally didn't know how to respond to those deep displays of affection but I craved them more than air to breath.

What's more is he was dropping little suggestions here and there…to let me know quite deliberately that the 'ball was in my court' as to how things proceeded from this point. He knew I had some doubts as to my future at SFPD and whether or not I really wanted to continue with the CSI training or pursue my Doctorate in Theoretical Physics. He knew my family, upset by recent events, was trying to pressure me into a less dangerous career path and could see that it was having an impact on my resolve to stay in Forensic Sciences. Money wasn't really an issue for me. I lived simply enough and the trust fund my grandparents had set up when I was born gave me just enough financial stability to leave my options wide open. He dropped casual hints about taking a leave of absence from the SFPD lab…visiting him for an extended stay in Las Vegas…the idea of taking a course or two at the University of Nevada…thought we joked about that and wondered if I shouldn't take some psych courses instead considering where I would be living…and I have to admit his suggestions were proving to be quite the temptation. I had agreed to think about what he said and he had given me the space I needed to do it.

He was fast becoming the centre of my little universe, a position I had once sworn no man would fill. I had thought that being this open and connected to a man would make me vulnerable and weak. Defenseless. And maybe this might have been the case with another man but not with Gil. Not with him. He loved me exactly as I was…flaws and short-comings aside…and admired me for my independence and intelligence. Cherished the differences we had. I suppose it was because I did the same for him. Unconditional love, a concept that I'd only experienced in my bond with my adoptive parents, was there, waiting for me to accept it. And I wanted to. I wanted to more than anything else in the world but I was so afraid I wasn't ready for it. So afraid that I would hurt him that I knew I would do anything to help this relationship grow. This discovery astonished me but not as much as the realization that I would do everything in my power to protect this bond that we shared and the person who shared it with me. I was committed…but I needed to make sure that I was strong enough to take the next step.

Anyway, it was for this reason (the need to go back to therapy and move forward with Gil) that I was glad that our respite was coming to an end. I needed to get back to work and sort out a few things…deal with Matt…clear my files…but more importantly, I needed the time to think.

On our last night, we decided to go out to dinner. There was a tiny Italian place that Gil's family favored that was intimate and quiet and perfectly charming. Gil was greeted by name and a few hearty hugs and I was welcomed with warmth and genuine pleasure. We enjoyed fabulous seafood with heaping platters of richly flavored pasta and we laughed and talked and grinned our way through three courses.

We drove back towards the house leisurely, the backseat of our car filled with take-out trays of leftovers, stopping once along the way to take a walk under the light of the bright full moon. When we got home we made love like there was no tomorrow and then drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

I was so happy and content, that I thought I would sleep the morning away but somewhere around five I am I was startled awake by the thought that we'd left all of that delicious food in the car and that if I didn't want to spoil I needed to fetch it and put it in the refrigerator.

Gil felt me move the second I shifted in the bed. "Sar?"

God, he looked so adorable and rumpled I couldn't resist bending down and giving him a kiss, but when he reached for me, I laughed softly and pulled away. "Just a sec, Gil. We forgot the food in the car. Be right back."

"Hmmph…okay…" he said, with a sleepy little rumble. "Hurry back."

"I will." And I did. Though it took me a few minutes to find his keys in the jumble of clothes we'd strung from the front door to the bedroom, I finally managed and made short work of rescuing the containers and slipping them in the refrigerator. I snagged a bottle of water, swigged a few greedy gulps and grabbed another for Gil before heading back to the bedroom. Gil was snoring by the time I got back. I giggled softly at the sight of him sprawled over the entire breadth of the bed with his arm flung across his brow. I was about to climb in with him when the fluttering of the patio curtain caught my attention.

I frowned. We hadn't left the glass doors open. In fact, I remembered checking to make sure the panels were locked and closed. In the space of a breath, my whole perception of the room shifted. The air sported a dangerous tickle. Shadows crawled along the walls and I reached for my gun. Silently I opened the nightstand drawer where I kept it. I drew the weapon from its holster and hoisted it at the ready to my shoulder. Ghost-like steps brought me closer to the window, and I breathed in shallow unperceivable breaths as I approached. I squinted through the delicate nylon sheers, careful to stay well hidden in the confine of the shadows. The world was still save for the crashing waves and the rolling breeze off the bay. I could see no movement. Sense no other presence.

I left my cover, padding over the tracks embedded in the threshold of the door and stepped out into the open. Again, nothing moved. I couldn't feel a presence no matter how hard I strained. We were alone. I knew that as surely as I knew my own name.

Cursing my imagination for going into hyper-drive, I was just about to go back in when I saw it.

There, in almost precisely the same spot as before was my sketchbook. It was still wrapped and sealed in its multiple bags…still stapled and taped as I remembered it to be…the only difference was that instead of being closed, it was open to Steiger's picture with the glass sticking out of his chest.


	7. Chapter 6

Intermezzo

Part VI

Well, I have to admit my heart stopped. Literally stopped for a full, painful second. It was many minutes before I managed to let out the breath that I'd been holding and bent to pick up the plastic wrapped horror.

Shaking, I took it carefully between my pinched fingers and eased it from the deck, trying to take stock of the situation.

_Please…please, tell me I'm not doing this. Please. Please, tell me it's not me. It's got to be someone else, right? Someone playing a really terrible, awful, sick joke. Please. Please. Tell me I'm not losing my mind._

But who else could it be. We were alone, right? I just checked. There's no one else here.

_Not now, but there could have been. Earlier. When you were out at dinner. Get a grip, Sara and try to do something useful. If it was someone else…or even if it was you, there has to be evidence, right? Something. Something._

Forcing myself to think beyond the moment, I looked the package over from all angles, and only then did I realize that something wasn't quite right. The tape looked odd to me. _The tape…the tape was different. Wasn't it? It wasn't as clear as the tape Gil had given me to use in the kitchen the other night. The tape? Really? Grasping at straws, aren't we? But then…maybe…maybe…_I blinked, the minor detail making me focus better than any amount of mental pep talk could. I started twisting the package this way and that, hoping that I could find some other details to substantiate my suspicions. I couldn't really comment on the staples because I did them so hap-hazardly but it did seem to me that maybe…maybe…there were a couple more staples embedded in the plastic than I had thought…?

And maybe I was imagining the whole thing_. _

_Everyone says you're pretty clever, Sara. Are you clever enough to fool yourself? Genius is akin to madness, after all. And madness runs in the family, doesn't it? Doesn't it? Am I so desperate to prove that it isn't me playing this crazy game of hide and seek…that I'm willing to delude myself into thinking that the package is different? Stupid question. Yes, of course I am. Anyone would be, wouldn't they? And yet…and yet…wait a minute!_

There were only three baggies around the sketchbook.

"I know I wrapped it in four," I murmured, scanning the interior intensely to be certain my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. No, I concluded after a moment of careful examination, I had been right. There were only three bags in the package. The zippered closures were easy to make out and I could only see three of them_. _It didn't really prove anything I supposed, only that the package was wrapped differently but…it was something, wasn't it? Wasn't it?

_I don't remember getting up. I don't remember leaving the bed. I don't remember rewrapping this book. It would have taken time to do this. I would have made noise. When did I have the time?_

_Okay_, I thought. _Okay. Enough fooling around. You're a CSI, Sara Sidle. About time you start thinking like one. _

On silent feet, I carried the bag in that tight pinch of mine through the bedroom and out into the kitchen. I made sure to grab my kit on the way. I thought about waking Gil, really, I did, but I wanted to be sure…I just…I needed…to be sure.

So there, in the spotless kitchen, with the sun pouring into the breakfast nook, I used every skill I'd developed in the last few years to retrieve my sketchbook from its makeshift prison. It was a long process as I was extremely careful about causing the least amount of damage I could. I donned gloves, grabbed a razor-sharp, finely bladed scalpel and sliced away the thinnest portions I could manage of the bottoms of the bags. I figured that if there were any prints to be had they would be found near the openings and it was best that I leave those alone until I could get the plastic into a fumigator. Once the sketchbook was free, I dusted the outside layer. I came up with nothing. No smudges. No prints.

I began to get a little more excited. You wouldn't think that not finding a print would have made me happy but in this case, I was ecstatic. The absence of prints was exactly what I was hoping to see. There should have been multiple fingerprints all over the plastic…namely, mine. I had been anything but careful when I'd put together the packaging in the first place. The complete absence of prints did more to confirm my suspicions than anything else so far. While it's true that in the broad sense of things, I didn't completely rule me out…the processes I would have gone to in my sleep to do something like this were really quite complex. What's more, to do it so accurately and without fingerprints…well, it seemed like quite a stretch to me. Also, I was quick to note that there was very little of Gil's red creeper dust lining the edges of the inner bag. There had been quite a bit when I first put the book inside. The bags were new. I was fairly certain of it now.

Carefully, oh so carefully, I rolled the plastic casings and slipped them into an evidence bag, making sure I labeled and dated the evidence log on the front. The minute the plane landed in San Francisco I was going to head straight for the lab. I grabbed another bag, determined to give my sketchbook the same treatment when I got back home but before I could put it away, something caught my eye. Words. Someone had written something in tiny, tiny script along the 'blade' of glass that had impaled Steiger. I couldn't quite make it out. I had to turn the book side-ways and even had to grab a magnifying glass to get a better look because the words were scripted in a miniscule, spidery, sprawl.

_Just like your mother…Like mother like daughter...Just like your mother…Like mother like daughter…_

I dropped the book instantly. If the sketchbook had suddenly caught fire I don't think it would have surprised me as much. "What the hell…?" I couldn't finish the thought. My first instinct was to run…run to the bedroom, and get Gil, and be a complete coward and let him deal with this…but-but I knew I couldn't do that. Oh god, no, the mention of my mother drove that thought from me so fast it was all I could do to stay upright. This was it. My deepest fears realized. No matter what I said or did at this point, Gil would find out about my past and I couldn't-I couldn't cope with that. Not like this. Not like this! Not when I hadn't come to terms with it myself. I couldn't let him see this. Not yet. I couldn't let him know.

But someone knew. Someone knew about my mother and my past. Someone knew that my mother had murdered my father and someone was accusing me of doing the same to Steiger. I just hoped and prayed it wasn't…me.

The last thought had barely formed when I heard rustling from the bedroom. "Sara?"

I panicked. I panicked hard. "In-In the kitchen, Gil," I called back, shoving my sketchbook into the bottom of my case along with everything else I'd used. I stripped off my gloves, snapped together the locks, and gave it a good shove under the kitchen table then turned to busy myself with the coffee maker. When his hands came up to my shoulders and when he dropped a kiss into my neck I was able to smile and offer a, "Good morning," in what was close to a normal tone of voice. "I'm just making a fresh p-pot. Want some?"

"Not as much as I want you," he chuckled and turned me about. He pressed me back into the counter and plastered his frame against mine, the evidence of his arousal very apparent. And it was easy. Easy to wind my arms around his neck and pull his head down to mine and grind against him with all of the pent up adrenalin that was still coursing through my system. Easy to let him take me then and there in the warmth of the breakfast nook. Easy to meet his every overture in a flurry of limbs and lips and return it all with the desperation I felt. So easy…at the time.

But after…after when he led me to the shower and he stood under the spray…just…holding me. After, when we sat across from each other drinking coffee for what might be the last time in quite a while. After, when we parted at the airport gate, him to board his flight and me mine…after…I realized that it was probably one of the hardest things I'd ever done in my life.

I hadn't told him, so in effect…I'd lied. Sort of, I guess. Lied by omission…or at the very least, broke the promise I'd made him. I didn't wake him. I didn't tell him what I'd found. What's worse, I'd let him fly back to Vegas, thinking there was nothing wrong.

"Call me when you land," he'd said, before kissing me good-bye.

I nodded, unable to keep myself from adding, "I'm going to miss you."

"Then come with me," he said, wiping my curls away from my face and holding my chin so he could kiss me again. "Please, Sara."

"Gil-I-oh, you know I can't. I need time…to think…to deal-"

"You can do that in Vegas. With me." He kissed me again and oh…man…oh, you know I almost gave in. It was such a near thing.

But a picture flashed in my brain…of the words…scribbled on the shaft of glass…and I shook my head, unable to say no again, but he knew it was what I meant. There was no other response I could give. I just prayed he couldn't hear how hard my heart was pounding…couldn't see the words etched into the blade of glass burning in my eyes.

_Just like your mother…Like mother like daughter...Just like your mother…Like mother like daughter…_

The words were getting louder by the second. I'd managed to keep them buried this long but I knew it wouldn't be long before my mouth said them and I couldn't allow that to happen. This time, I was the one who reached out. I kissed his cheek and smiled sadly when I brushed away the traces of my lipstick the kiss had left behind. "I'll call," I told him and then turned away before I could change my mind. I didn't look back. I couldn't.

I spent the whole plane ride trying to justify my actions to myself. Trying. Going through things over and over in my mind. I wanted him away from this until I had a chance to figure out what was going on.

So far, it looked as though he wasn't part of this. At least, that was what I was telling myself so that I could do what needed to be done. If I had my way, I would keep him out of it for as long as I could. I just wish I knew 'who' it was I was protecting him from.

I just wish I could be sure that it wasn't _me_.


	8. Chapter 7

Intermezzo

Part VII

Okay, so the plan was to get off the plane, collect my luggage, retrieve my car from long-term parking and head to my apartment. That would have been the most sensible thing to do but…well, let's face it, my brain had been consumed with questions and worst-case scenarios so going to the lab was really my only option.

It felt strange going through the motions of pulling my identification and side-arm out of my locker after not having done it for so long. Felt stranger still feeling the gun's weight nestled against my newly healed ribs and I wondered at it because I had really begun to feel being armed was a more natural state of being than not since I'd joined the SFPD. I'd had time off before but I'd never felt this sense of disconnection. Maybe it had something to do with the way I'd left things. There was a certain anxiety flowing through my system at the thought of meeting up with Matt. We hadn't left things on good terms. Oh well. I shook it off and checked my watch. Gil should have landed by now, I thought to myself, might even be home. I promised to call. Maybe that should be my first order of business.

I got his machine so I left a brief message and told him he could reach me at the lab when he got it. I didn't elaborate on the reasons. For all I knew, he might have decided to check in at his lab as well. We were creatures of similar habits.

Out of respect more than a true desire to do it, I bit the bullet and ambled up to Matt's office to let him know I'd returned. I was surprised to see that he wasn't there, but even more surprised to see the state of his desk. His inbox was piled with files needing his attention but his blotter was spotless. I don't think I'd ever seen it so pristine. His chair was pushed in and the bookcase lining the bottom of the back wall was conspicuously clear of used coffee cups and left over take-out containers. Frowning, I turned about and went down the hall to reception.

"Carol?"

The brunette, twenty-five year old receptionist pulled her attention away from her computer screen and shot me a pleasant, welcoming grin. "Sara! Didn't know you were back. How was the trip? Feeling better?"

Used to her rapid-fire delivery of questions, I rattled off the appropriate answers. "Just got in as a matter of fact. Haven't even been home yet. The time away was good…very good and I'm feeling much better, thanks."

"Well, good. Good. It must have been a nice change. What can I do for you?"

"I'm not really here for shift…just came in to get the lay of the land before I got back into it tomorrow night. I was hoping to speak to Matt. Is he out on a call?"

Carol shook her head, her mouth pouting a bit with a sympathetic lilt. "No. Actually, Matt hasn't been here for about a week. He took a few personal days."

"Is he sick?"

"No, no, his aunt died. It was very sudden. Car accident, I think. Took his family by surprise. He had to make a trip out to Colorado to help his mother with the arrangements. She doesn't have any other family close."

Well, I thought, that explains that. "I'm so sorry to hear that. I'm sure it's been difficult for them. Do you know when he's due back or is that more open ended?"

"His flight comes in tomorrow. He called about an hour ago to confirm so he's scheduled for shift the following morning. Detective Callahan has been running the shift in his place."

"Great. Thanks for the update Carol. I'll check in with him. See you in a bit." I did just that. I made small talk with Callahan while I got caught up with a few of the files I'd left to others while on the coast. Our talk was brief and it consumed only a few minutes before I was able to go on with my personal business.

As luck would have it, the fumigator was in use, so I spent the intervening time going over lab reports and the various files sitting in my inbox. I even filled out a requisition form for supplies for my kit and when that failed to use up the rest of the waiting period, I gave Gil another call, this time at the lab. After I had a verbal tap dance with the receptionist, he answered on the second ring.

"You were supposed to call when you landed, Dr. Grissom," I told him, only half-joking.

"I meant to, Sara. Really. Jim Brass met my plane. I had to go to a site. I just walked into the lab. Haven't even taken my coat off. I was about to check in with you."

I clucked my tongue. "That's not a nice welcome home. Lucky you had your kit with you."

"Yes."

"Nasty?"

"Decomp. Wrapped in plastic. Moist environment-"

"No need to go on. Very nasty." I could hear him pulling open drawers and moving things around. "Sounds like you're deep in it already."

"I am. Sorry. Can I call you back? Couple of hours?" His voice sounded so distant and I could tell his mind was circling through whatever evidence he'd gathered.

"Um, yeah, that's fine. Try the lab first. I think I may still be here."

"What happened, did you get ambushed too?"

I chuckled, "No, no. I thought about going home first but that compulsive side of me thought I should check in here before I did. It was on the way."

His answering laugh rumbled through the handset. "Had I been given the choice, I probably would have done the same. Talk to you later."

"Yes. 'Bye Gil."

"Good-bye." His line went dead almost immediately.

I let the phone buzz in my ear, longer than necessary, trying to squeeze every drop from the moment but in the end, there was nothing for it but to hang up. "As usual, Sara, you made a choice that although you know it's the right one, is very difficult to accept. Move on, Sara. Move on."

And I did just that. Well, tried to anyway. The fumigator was still in use when I went back to check and from what I was told would be for hours to come so any chance of getting on there in the near future went up in smoke. I thanked the technician for the head's up and went home.

It wasn't until the key was sliding into the knob that I realized the real reason I'd gone to the lab instead of heading to my apartment. I didn't want to be there alone. Yes, it was true that I'd wanted to investigate the journal but, really, it wasn't the main one. The knowledge hit me square in the face the minute I opened my door and saw the spare pair of shoes Gil had left sitting next to mine on the tiny mat by my closet. We'd only been apart for a few hours and already I missed him more than I thought I could.

Dammit.

I dropped my keys and luggage where I stood and kicked the door shut with my foot.

Dammit to hell.

What was wrong with me?

This is stupid, I thought as I began to pace. Really, stupid, Sara. You had reasons…valid, very important reasons for leaving him at the airport and coming back here. They still stand. Nothing has changed. Nothing.

I stopped pacing. Well almost nothing. Obviously I had or else I wouldn't be here arguing with myself, now would I?

I remember standing there, in the middle of my hallway, miniscule as it was, staring at the suitcases I'd dropped at the threshold, with wild thoughts circling my brain. I remember thinking things like, how easy it would be to grab the cases and head back to the airport. How simple it would be to hop a flight. How quickly I could be in Vegas, just like Gil had wanted me to be. And the more I thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed. In fact, the idea of staying in San Francisco, the choices I'd made since I'd found the journal on the deck of the beach house…all of it seemed so…illogical that I actually made a move for the phone to call a cab. In truth, I made it almost all the way there…before I saw it.

When I finally made the last couple of steps and picked up the receiver, it wasn't to call a cab company. It was to call the police.


	9. Chapter 8

Intermezzo

Part VIII

I waited in the hall as the two uniformed officers who'd been the first to respond to my call had cleared the premises, the image of what I'd seen swirling around in my brain.

I suppose that someone with an artistic bent would say that the red, crusted, stain that coated the walls of my dining area had a certain…graffiti-like, avant-guard presence to it…but I wasn't inclined to view it in that light. It was fascinating, though. I fell into a sort of trance, mentally following the line of one strand or another till its trail dissolved into the most miniscule of droplets. The mass existed in this one area and that was it. It was all contained in this one section of my dining room. There was no trail, no bloody footprints…the rest of the apartment was completely undisturbed. I couldn't begin to speculate what might have occurred to have forced the splatter to behave in such an odd fashion, but at least there was no body lying at its base. I suppose one had to be thankful for small blessings.

I heard footsteps and turned to see a familiar face carrying the necessary tools of the trade and another man trailing in his wake. "Nice timing. Seven minutes?"

"Six and twenty," Courtland Dexter answered, his mouth dancing with a smile even if it didn't flow to his ebony eyes. He shifted a little, the weight of his case obviously resting on a weary arm. "We were in the neighborhood," he stated grimly.

"How bad?" I asked, concerned that he seemed quite pale under his naturally dark complexion.

Dexter shook his head, taking his time to answer, "Three car pile up, ten blocks from here. Two of 'em hit in a head on. Seven people. Five managed to walk away." He bent to put on shoe protectors and pulled his Jamaican styled braids back into a firm ponytail with a leather tie. The severe style made the chiseled angles of his face appear even sharper in the pale light of the overhead bulb. It was a little startling because it was rare for Courtland Dexter to be so solemn. He was usually quite a jovial soul.

"Two were gone before we arrived on the scene," the man at his shoulder added, before he bent to don his own booties. "The little boy couldn't have been more than ten."

It was my turn to shake my head. "Guys, I'm sorry, really…for having called you. If I could have managed-"

"Sidle, you know better than that. Conflict of interest and all that." Dexter stepped through the doorway, waving away my words. "We're here and ready. Good thing too. I'm in no condition to go home and face my kids just yet." That ghostly smile made another appearance at my nod of understanding and then he jerked his head back at the ginger haired man taking up the rear. "You remember Markenson?"

"Yes, though I think we've only spoken once before. I'd shake your hand in greeting…" I stated but then left off with a friendly shrug at his plastic encased hands. Both men had arrived in regulation white protective suits. I guess they'd decided they weren't going to take any unnecessary chances until they knew what they were dealing with. I suppose they were smart to be cautious. I would have been too had I known what I was walking into earlier.

"You haven't touched anything, right ?" Courtland asked, as he carried on through to the living room and knelt to unpack his kit. Then he looked up. "Holy Crap!"

"That's one mother of a mess you got crawling up your walls, Sidle," Markenson stated with a sort of awe, before bending quick to grab a couple of items from his kit.

I watched him go through the motions of prepping, unconsciously thinking about the subtle differences in our way of getting set-up. "Yeah. Someone decided to redecorate while I was away."

"There's layers and layers of it."

"I know. It looks quite thick in some places. Oh, and I'd barely gotten in through the door when I noticed it so I didn't have time to touch anything else…besides the telephone. I touched the telephone. I don't think I touched anything else besides the door. I dropped the luggage and keys…and my coat where they currently sit. Nothing else." I frowned, hoping that my response had come off a lot more professionally than it sounded in my head. The shock was wearing off and I was beginning to get a little jumpy from nerves.

Markeson had already approached one of the broadest, thicker-set strands and made a swipe with a swab. A few drops of reagent were added without ceremony and he presented the swab for our inspection. "Definitely blood." He snorted a little at my expression. "But then, you already knew that, didn't you?"

I shrugged. "Would have been my first guess, but because of the volume I was hoping…The harder one to answer is, 'How did it get there?'"

Dexter produced his camera and began squeezing off shots. "Trail's moving upward. Central from the table."

"More information that I'd already gathered. If I had to speculate, I'd have to say that it was in the nature of an eruption…or explosion…but that explanation is a little extreme as you would think that any kind of incendiary device that had enough power to spray the blood to the ceiling would have destroyed my table and maybe my walls as well." In the time that I'd been talking, I'd donned my own booties and followed in the wake of the guys as they did their cursory examinations. Now that the official lab team had arrived, as long as I didn't physically touch or collect any of the evidence, I was free to get a closer look at the damage. I leaned over the table, examining the spot where I calculated the epicenter to be and frowned. "There's…bits of…well, I'm not sure what…but there's more than just blood pooled in this patch here."

"Yeah, I see it," Dexter said, pulling out his tweezers. He pinched one of the larger pieces and eased it from the congealed globs that housed it. "What is that? Paper?" He flipped it one way then another. "Yeah, paper. Postal paper. See?" He held it closer for Markenson and I to examine it. "There's a bit of the paper that escaped getting saturated."

"Postal paper? The stuff you wrap packages with?" Markenson asked, holding open an evidence bag.

"Looks like. We'll get the lab to confirm but…" Dexter pulled another longish piece from the glop after snapping off a few photos, "…yeah, that's what it appears to be."

"Package…"

"You say something, Sara?"

"Just thinking…one sec." I did a mental back-track. The mention of a package had sent my brain whirling. "You know, I received a package at headquarters the day I took sick-leave. It was about…umm…so big," I splayed my hands about the width of a brick, demonstrating its size and then let them drop. "I slipped it into my purse, thinking to open it here at home…but I got distracted when Gil and I began to make arrangements to go to the coast. I thought I put it on the front entry table, but maybe I put it in here instead. We were really rushed trying to get out…" I frowned. Putting it on the dining room table would have been a little out of character for me but it was possible that I'd done that in the confusion of getting ready…or that Gil had moved it.

"There's more fragments mixed in here. We'll get it back to the lab and see what the techies can do with it." Courtland eyed the table and then ducked beneath the surface level to examine the underside. "You might be closer on that explosion theory that you think. Look here…see…" he gestured at a curved and obviously scorched bowl-shaped protrusion that sat squarely under the worst of the mess above.

I nodded from my crouch, biting my lip in thought. "You're going to need to take the table."

"Yeah, goes without saying." He straightened and arched, giving his legs a quick shake to restore circulation. "I've got some protective film in the truck. Markenson-?"

"On it, Sir," the other tech said as he bounded out the door in a perfect double-time pace.

When I looked back at Dexter for an explanation, he gave me his first genuine grin. "You can take the boy out of the marines…"

"Ah. That's quite a jump…marine to CSI."

"Well, according to Markenson, he loved the Corps but couldn't handle the sea."

That surprised a laugh out of me. "A marine…who gets seasick?"

"So he claims. Said he kept trying to tough it out. Thought he'd get over it eventually…but things went from bad to worse and he felt his performance was being affected so he finished his initial commitment and went onto to greener pastures." Dexter grabbed a large roll of duct tape from his kit and prepped some strips for easy use. "Their loss, our gain. He's a helluva CSI."

Markenson returned then and the two men went about wrapping my table for transport to the lab. When that was done, they enlisted the assistance of one of the uniformed officers to bring it downstairs to the front of my building and radioed for a pick-up. I stayed in the apartment with other officer watching their progress through the window. I noticed Dexter's conversation dragged on a little longer than expected and there was a decided slam to the force of his car door when he shut it after he'd replaced the receiver. I waited for him to rejoin us realizing belatedly that Markenson wasn't following. After a brief word between them, Markenson gave a jaunty salute and bounded up into the front seat of the transport truck, obviously hitching a ride back to the lab in that fashion.

"Okay, Sara, sorry to say, you've been dropped on my current list of priorities," Dexter said without preamble.

"You've got another scene?"

"Yeah. Nasty sonuvabitch from the sounds of it."

"Are we that short-handed that you're the only one available to go?"

"No, no. This one is related to a file I've been working on for the last couple of months. Dispatch alerted me that there was another…development. I requested assignment. Listen," he said, giving his shoulders a roll, "Markenson's going to follow through on the table and after I check the next scene and get a few hours sleep, I'll update you ASAP on the progress. I've arranged for a dayshift team to come in and do a once-over of the carpets and surrounding rooms but they can't get here for another hour or so. Dispatch said it will leave an officer on the door for security purposes but they want you to clear out so there's no complications further down the road."

"That's ridiculous. I know how to handle a scene-"

"That was there call. They insisted on those conditions before they agreed to me going onto the next scene and I have to be there, Sara so this is the way it is. They also asked me if you'd gotten a clean bill of health? Said you were supposed to present a medical release before you come back on active duty?"

I grunted. "Yeah, I've got an appointment with my doctor this afternoon before shift starts. I'm still a little sore in areas but I don't foresee any problems. There was some concern as to whether my ribs would be an issue…"

"I heard you took quite a beating on that last assignment."

I shrugged, not willing to go into details. "Okay, well, I guess I'm heading out then. Maybe I'll call my doctor and see if he can fit me in early." I grabbed my purse and while Dexter gathered his supplies I took a quick look around, to see if I noticed anything out of the ordinary. Everything seemed to be just as it had been the day we left for the coast. The only thing that was out of place was the package I'd received from work. There was no sign of it anywhere so I was drawn to the inevitable conclusion that it was indeed the source of the mess in my dining room.

I waited for Dexter to consult with the guard so that we could walk down together and for the most part that walk was coated in silence as we were both lost in our own thoughts. When we reached the spot where we would have split off to go to our own vehicles, Dexter paused and did an about face. In a low voice he said, "Hey, Sara, that package you said you were sent? Did you notice a return address? A stamp?"

"I-I don't know. I barely looked at it," I told him honestly.

"It was addressed to you?"

"I-I'm not sure. I assumed it was. After all, it was in my box. Our receptionist handed it to me as I was leaving."

"But you didn't look at it."

I shook my head. "I was a little preoccupied that day."

"Okay. Any other strange incidents in the last little while?"

My mind immediately jumped back to the time I found the sketchbook and everything connected with it. Though I didn't want to answer him, I knew I had to. "Possibly. Nothing's been confirmed yet, but…maybe."

"Did you report any of it?"

"No. Not yet. " He opened his mouth to protest and I held him off with my hand. "I don't have any hard proof. I mean, it's nothing like this," I jerked a thumb back at the building we'd just left. "This was obvious. Blatant. Someone deliberately did something that was quantifiable and undeniable. I called for help immediately because I knew I could back up my claim."

He considered me for a moment and then relaxed his stance a little. "Sara, this other case I'm involved with? It's a stalking case. One that's always had the potential to go bad…and may have taken that final turn this morning. I've been dealing with nasty surprises…scare tactics, you name it, but up to this point most of it…well, they were set up to look like pranks. Mean pranks…but …you know…almost harmless. The difficulty in my other case has been proving that there is a single person acting with an escalating agenda…one that could potentially be life-threatening…it's been a long road and I hope that this latest issue may prove to be the final nail in the coffin. But if that package you were given…contained an explosive of some sort that caused the damage we saw in your apartment, you have to know that you're already there. Had you opened it, it's a very real possibility that you could have been seriously hurt."

"Yes, I know. Believe me, I'm looking at things in a whole new light this morning."

"Good. Watch your back…and the back's of those you care about."

We said our good-byes and I continued on my way to my car, my whole system going on alert. I scanned the trees and the spaces between buildings and the windows of my car then unlocked my car efficiently and slid into the passenger seat. I clicked the auto-lock for the doors and then just sat there for a moment, trying to sort out my next actions.

As I'd told Dexter, things had changed. I had a whole new perspective on what was happening and more than that, I had evidence that I wasn't the one who was orchestrating everything. In the space of mere seconds, fear gave way to anger and anger gave way to determination. Someone was playing games. Very dangerous games. It was time for me to go on the offensive. It was also time for me to tell Gill what was happening. He wasn't going to be pleased…in fact, there was every possibility that he was going to be furious, but that wasn't a deterrent by any means. This threat was as much about him as it was about me and he had the right to know. However, I didn't think it was right to dump all of this on him long distance so without really allowing myself to analyze my actions, I started my car and drove straight to my doctor's office.

Luck was with me and I managed to slip in between appointments with only a forty-five minute wait. As the doctor checked me over and asked about my progress, I made sure to give him a very honest reporting into how I was healing and feeling at that point in time. I didn't exaggerate. I didn't lie. Everything I said to him was the truth. My ribs were still on the tender side. I'd avoided taking the pain medication because I hadn't wanted to deal with the side effects. I wasn't sleeping as well as I could because I had to be careful about which way I was lying to protect them. My hand was doing well but I was still having alternating sensations of numbness and severe cramping as I began to use it more. There was still a way to go until it was completely healed. He poked and prodded and 'hmmmed' and 'haaaaddd' and when it was all said and done It was more than enough for the doctor to insist on another seven days of medical leave.

Yes, it was the truth…and it had worked to my advantage, but I still felt terribly guilty about the whole thing because had it been my intention to return to work, no matter what, I would have lied and said everything was fine.

After that, things happened very quickly. I drove to the airport, made a reservation on their first flight to Las Vegas and filled the hour long wait for take-off making the appropriate phone calls to headquarters and to my mother so that everyone was appraised of my change in plans and had contact numbers to reach me. Everything went like clockwork. The only glitch was that I was unable to reach Gil. The Las Vegas lab receptionist informed me that Gil was on assignment and couldn't be reached so I had to be satisfied with that. When she asked me if she could take my name and leave a message, I refused politely thinking that there was really too much explanation needed to be put into a short note and I didn't want to worry him unnecessarily. I hung up and made my way to the gate hoping that Gil wouldn't mind a surprise visitor landing on his doorstep and boarded the plane.


	10. Chapter 9

Intermezzo

Part 9

Despite the fact that I had a key, I decided to knock before entering Gil's condo. There were two reasons for this. First off, since I hadn't left my name or a message at the lab when I'd called, I didn't exactly feel comfortable about stepping into his home unannounced…especially considering the news I was about to deliver. Secondly, it wasn't exactly smart to surprise someone who could answer the door armed if they weren't sure who it was on the other side. I was pretty sure he wasn't home because I hadn't seen his truck on the parking pad but that didn't mean he wasn't there. He could have had a problem with it or had gotten a ride home from his last crime scene from one of the patrol cars. It was better to err on the side of caution than not at all. When I didn't get a response the first time, I rapped again for good measure. I waited for a moment and then shrugged. _Well, I'd tried_, I thought as I fished out my key.

It only took a couple of moments to deal with the lock and work my bags into his entry way but it took way longer to decide what to do with them after I'd closed the door. My normal routine would have been to carry them on through to the bedroom, but let's face it, I wasn't exactly sure how Gil was going to react so the idea of letting him think I'd automatically assumed I'd be staying the night really bothered me.

I dropped my keys on the hook by the door and decided I could do with some coffee. I took my time gathering the necessary implements, making sure I pulled another cup for Gil just in case he should arrive home before the pot finished brewing and then took a quick survey of his refrigerator. It was dismal…no, actually, worse than dismal. Absolutely disgusting. _Not surprising, really_, I supposed when one remembered that Gil was a person who actually bought groceries rather than used a take-out menu to prepare for dinner and he hadn't planned on being away for as long as he had. Most of his supplies had seen better days so while the coffee percolated I sniffed, and examined and tossed anything that beyond saving. Unfortunately, I was left with precious little to work with so I decided, _what the hell…in for a penny, in for a pound_.

I waited just long enough for the coffee to finish brewing, shut off the coffee maker and penned a quick note, telling Gil that in case he missed the suitcases in the hall that I'd been there and had just slipped down to the corner grocer for some food. I propped the note on the butcher block in the centre of the kitchen island and went through the door for the second time in under an hour.

It was just coming up on noon when I entered the grocer's. The young girl behind the counter _(Jen…Jennifer…no, Jenna…yeah, that was it, Jenna)_ waved as I entered.

"Haven't seen you in a while," she said cheerfully. "Grissom with you?"

"No. From all reports, he's still at the lab. What's good today, Jenna?"

"The pineapple. Really fresh. Just got it in. It's over in the side bin." She nodded her head at the produce trays and then motioned for another customer to approach the counter. "Good morning, Mrs. Javier. Didn't expect to see you this early."

Their conversation continued but I tuned out as, having grabbed the aforementioned pineapple and some strawberries that looked ripe, I turned the aisle towards the dairy case. I picked up some fresh eggs, yogurt, cheese, a jug of milk, and went back to the produce section thinking that if Gil wanted to make an omelet he might want some onion, peppers and tomatoes to go with it. I grabbed a loaf of bread and a couple of tins of soup for good measure and then it was my turn to head to the cash desk.

"Your dad's not around?" I asked Jenna as I laid my items down on the counter.

She shook her head, her dark curls dancing. "No. He's in the Caribbean with my mother. Took her on a cruise for their 10th wedding anniversary."

"Nice."

"Yeah, my dad's a real romantic. He managed to book the same hotel they went to on their honeymoon. Same room too, I think. Had a message from them the other day. They're having a great time." She began punching prices into the cash register and bagging the food she'd checked through. "I'm really happy everything's going well. They needed a break from this place and some alone time."

"So you're holding down the fort till they get back?"

"Yes, but I've got help. My brother, Victor, comes in to help when he finishes school for the day and we've got two guys who come in after hours to stock and tidy. It's not so bad and I like talking to the customers each day." She shifted the last of my items into the waiting paper sack and lifted it to the side of the counter. "Okay, damage is $42.00 even."

I laughed. "That doesn't happen every day." I pulled the cash from my wallet and passed it to her. "Well, if I don't see you before I leave, you send on my best wishes to your parents."

"I will. Tell that Grissom not to work too hard, now, huh? He makes the rest of us look lazy."

"Yeah, I know. Can't be helped, sometimes."

She clucked her tongue, a rather mature gesture for someone so young. "Yeah, but sometimes it's in the choices too, hey? I keep telling him to relax. Take some time off. Get a dog. You know…enjoy life outside that lab of his. You. You're good for him. He smiles when he talks about you, you know? His eyes crinkle."

I smiled in return. "Thanks, Jenna. I needed to hear that today." I waved before she could question me further. "Better get home. See you soon."

"Bye, Sara!" She sang out, already busy with the next customer.

I glanced at my watch as I hustled down the sidewalk. One fifteen. I'd been in the store longer than I'd thought. There was every possibility Gil had made it home by now so I quickened my steps and made the last block in record time. Sure enough, Gil's lab issue truck was parked on his parking pad, empty and idle. I let myself in through the security gate and hiked up the steps to the second level apartment. This time I didn't knock, thinking he certainly had some notice of my arrival and unlocked his door. "Gil? It's me. Gil? I'm back." I dropped my keys in the dish, listening. "Are you in the shower?"

"No," his voice came distantly. "I'm in the kitchen."

Okay, I thought, that's a little strange. "Why didn't you answer me when I called?" I asked him, slipping off my shoes and bare-footing it the rest of the way in.

Gil was leaning on the kitchen counter, his arms braced, his body stiff. He raised his head slowly…mechanically as I came closer. "I was busy," he answered when we were face to face and then looked down once more.

"Gil? Are you alright? Gil?"

"No. No, I don't think so. I'm not sure what I'm feeling right now, actually."

"Okay, Gil, you're scaring me-"

"Am I?"

"Look at me." My demand went unanswered. "Gil!"

The second one was answered, this time with eyes splintered with pain and anger; moist with unshed tears but only for a moment before he lowered them again. Then he stumbled a bit and I seriously thought he was going to fall.

"Gil!" The bar ledge was in my sightline so I couldn't see what it was that he was 'busy' with but I knew…I knew just from his body language and the cold, clinical tone in his voice that somehow…he'd found out what I'd come here to tell him.

Dropping the bag of groceries where I stood, I walked around to the other side of the counter and hissed when I saw the photographs laid out on its surface. There in living colour ranged four 8x10 photos of the bloody explosion I'd discovered in my living room. "I don't understand," I whispered, leaning in to examine them more closely.

"Well, that makes two of us," Gil said sharply and then sent the photos flying with a slash of his hand.

I watched the papers fly then land scattered all over his kitchen then I turned back to him. "Where-" I swallowed and cleared my throat, "Where did you get those?"

I saw his hands clench once, then twice before he thrust his hands into his pockets and turned full to face me. "I've been have crazed out of my mind for the last three hours, desperately trying to track you down, thinking you were hurt at the very least or…or worse and the only thing you can do is ask me where the hell I got these damn photos from?"

"Wh-What?" I was so confused I was stuttering.

He came for me then, his hands finding my shoulders, his face leaning into mine. "I called the lab, Sara and the station but all they could tell me is that there had been a dispatch to your apartment early this morning. They wouldn't tell me anything else but I was frightened and I started calling hospitals…but no one…there's was no one admitted fitting your description. I couldn't find you. I almost drove straight to the airport but decided to check my machine here just in case…in case there was something. Anything. And then I get here…hoping…hoping somehow that you might be…and your stuff is here but you're not!"

"What are you-?" I gasped out, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. "Oh my god! Oh my god! You thought I was… You thought I was-" I raised a hand, placing it against his chest only to remove it when he flinched and gave me a shake.

"Yes, Sara! I thought you were dead. I thought you'd been killed. I thought that blood bath in those photos was the end of you!" And then without another word, his mouth drove into mine and he was kissing me and there was nothing but heat and desperation and melded skin until I was so dizzy I could hardly stay upright.


	11. Chapter 10

Intermezzo

Part X

"Gil!" I gasped, when I could catch a breath. "Gil, I'm okay. I'm allllll-"

And that was as far as I got before his mouth covered mine for a second, circuit-frying kiss. The kiss lead to touching, the touching turned to clutching and before I could wrap my brain around the concept that we were about to have sex in the middle of his kitchen...we were having sex in the middle of his kitchen. Cold tile, bloody photographs and all, we tumbled to the floor in a mindless frenzy of limbs and skin and had sex in the kitchen.

And it was sex.

S-E-X!

Though I'm sure there was love-making at the very core of this frantic act, it held little resemblance to the devoted, spiritually physical connections we'd shared in the past.

This was raw, determined, oblivious to all else sex. This was no time to get naked, desperate to prove we still existed, paint-peeling, scream your head off sex and I wanted it every bit as much as he did. This sex was smothered in anxiety and fear but my libido didn't seem to care. In fact, it welcomed it with everything I had in me. God knew I needed the release as much as Gil did! It revved me up and pushed me along head first until not only was I a very willing participant in this scenario, I was actually taking turns at leading the charge.

His mouth was everywhere. Pertinent sections of my clothes were stripped away with a dexterity and determination that was stunning to witness. I popped buttons, I yanked on zippers, I nipped and bit and stroked and licked. It was so intense...so primitive that I almost lost it then and there. Almost.

Almost.

I would have been completely overcome but...Gil said something that...that...made me...take stock. That shook me from the wild, abandoned, rush of need.

"All that blood! All that blood!" He heaved. He moaned the words into my skin. He coated me with them and I couldn't breathe.

The first time he said it, I really didn't catch it and the second...I was caught by surprise but the third... well...it completely devastated me. Something inside me shut down. Collapsed in on itself I could feel it happening but I could do nothing to stop it any more that I could put a stop to what Gil was feeling.

I lost track of how many times he said it after that. I tried to soothe him, to comfort him but it was like trying to halt an out if control freight train with a feather so it was all I could do to keep up and be there for him. It didn't matter that I was having a hard time dealing with this experience...all that mattered was that he was in pain...again...because of me. I knew...I knew that this...this passionate exchange wouldn't fix things, wouldn't make it right, but it was what he needed in the here and now and it was all I could offer.

I gave myself to the moment. I blocked out all thought of after...of consequence...and just let him do what he needed to do. And when he entered me...I welcomed him as only his lover could and held him deep within me...cherishing the feel of him locked in my embrace.

I wanted to hold him there...frozen...in that moment forever. In that moment we were complete. We were whole. We were the end and the beginning and every wondrous thing in between. But nothing lasts forever. Change is a part of everything and everything must change in order to survive. He started moving and we lost that perfect moment and time marched on.

Higher and higher we climbed, to where breathing fades to gasps, to where words dissolve into drops of sound and to where one person pours himself into another and becomes part of their very essence. Their very existence.

We didn't so much climax as erupt and when it was over he uttered the two words that I knew we'd been dancing around for months; two words that turned me to stone.

"Marry me!" It was said in a whisper but we both heard the demand. We both felt its resonance in our cores.

I was shaking my head before I could even verbalize the words. "No, Gil. No. You don't...You don't want me like this...you don't know what you're asking!"

He was still buried in me, deep inside me, his hands tangled in my hair, his face wracked with confusion and pain. "I don't-I don't care about your secrets. I don't care! None of that matters."

He bent low, ravaging my mouth and it was all I could do gasp out, "Gil-Gil it does matter. It does! You just-you just-What do you think happened here? What do you think just happened-?"

"Do you love me? Do you love me?" He demanded again, when I didn't answer the first time.

I wanted to lie. I prayed for the strength to conceal the depth of my feelings for him but that would have been cowardly and I couldn't deny him that bit of truth. "Yes. Yes!" I said and pushed at his shoulders. If my ribs had had the strength I would have tumbled him off. "But I won't marry you. I love you too much for that. Now let me up." I could feel tears building in my throat and I had to escape. "PLEASE!"

At first, I didn't think he would move but then, he rolled to his back and let me go. And I left him there, lying on the cold tile of the kitchen floor and fled for the safety of the shower.


	12. Chapter 11

Intermezzo

Part 11

He was waiting for me when I exited the shower. Perched on the edge of the bed, his hands linked, his body hunched, he was a study of the brooding hero. I didn't think my heart could hurt any worse than it had when I'd run out on him in the kitchen but it did. It really did. He straightened when I opened the door but didn't say anything at first...just looked at me with an expression that said he wasn't about to let this situation end without a good fight.

I wasn't up to a fight. I wasn't even sure I had the strength for an argument. I leaned against the door frame, shoving my hands in the pockets of the robe I'd found hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and said the words that had been running through my head since I'd flown from the kitchen. "It wouldn't work, Gil," I told him sadly. My words were soft, my body language anything but aggressive.

He answered in kind. "How can you say that...after...after...the time we've spent together at the beach house? After everything we've been through?" He combed a hand through his curls. "We're good together. Really good. We fit, Sara. I don't know why you can't see it."

"Is that what you think? That I don't understand how special...how unique our connection is or-or...how lucky we are to have found each other? I see it, Gil. I feel it. But that's not the point."

"Then what is the point, Sara? Spell it out because so far, none of this is making any sense to me."

I let my head drop forward; it was beginning to ache. Fatigue was beginning to set in and that along with the emotional toll of the last couple of days was really starting to hit me. I pushed away from the wall, my bare feet making absolutely no sound as they carried me over to where he was sitting, and lowered myself onto the bed so I could be close to him. Hesitantly, I reached out a hand, terrified that he'd reject me but unable to keep myself from trying to make an attempt to ease some of the pain I'd caused. There was no hesitation at all on his end as he enveloped my hand in his and brought it to his lips. "Why don't you hate me, Gil? I've put you through so much lately. I know I'm going to put you through more. Why don't you just forget me and move on with your life?"

"It's not an option, Sara. I might be able to keep on living without you but I know I'd never be able to forget you. You're in me, now...deeper than anyone has ever been."

"It scares me when you talk like that, Gil. It's not good. I'm not good...for you. I can't..." I broke off in frustration. "I'm just going to end up hurting you and I don't want that!"

"You don't know that for certain-"

"But I do know, Gil! I do know. There was a time...when we first met ...that I thought maybe, maybe we had a chance but when the nightmares started again and all of this stuff with my pictures came out...it made me realize that that person I thought I'd left behind...that angry, hurting child I'd thought I'd come to terms with...was still there. Controlling my actions...my reactions! I buried her, Gil, but I never did the autopsy and until I can get my head sorted out we just don't have a chance in hell of making it."

"Talk to me, Sara. Talk to me. Maybe I can help." When I made an attempt to get off the bed, he held fast, his other hand chaffing mine. I didn't respond and he went on. "Fine. I'll talk. I've been able to piece together quite a bit...I think. I know you're adopted. That Lexie and Zach have welcomed you into their families and that you have no ties with anyone from your birth parents' families."

I nodded, finding it easier to allow him to take the lead for the moment.

"I know that they love you and you love them and are devoted to your mom especially for standing by you in some pretty difficult times."

"She-she was the first person in my life who had ever loved me...unconditionally...who ever made me feel that I was important...that my existence was worthwhile. I owe everything I am...everything good that is...to her."

"And you met her when you were...?"

"Fifteen...no, almost sixteen."

"So before that...?"

"I was bounced around through a lot of foster homes. Some good. Some bad."

"Some very bad?" he asked, frowning over my tone. When I nodded, he sighed. "The nightmares..."

"Some of them are caused by that. Some of them are from before."

"Your birth parents-?"

"Dead. Both of them."

"Are you an only child?"

"No...at least I wasn't. I had a brother. He died...I think."

"You think-"

I shook my head at him and he got the message.

"Okay. We'll leave that for now. What about other relatives?"

"I don't know. My grand-parents disowned my mother when she married my father. We didn't have any contact with them at all. There...there was this photo album, my mother had. Buried in the bottom of her closet. It was filled with photos but they were just faces to me. I never asked and she wasn't one for reminiscing. They cut her off and she cut them out. When they took me to foster care, I assumed I didn't have any other family and wouldn't have known any different if it hadn't been for the fact that I'd received a trust fund from my mother's parents when they passed away."

"They never tried to contact you...after your parents died?"

I shook my head and shrugged. "Everything was done through lawyers and social workers and..." I was going to add psychiatrists but I just wasn't ready to go there. "I have no idea if they tried or not. I just know that they'd made provisions for both my brother and me and since I was the only surviving child I received both trusts when I reached majority."

"And there was abuse..."

He said it so carefully...so carefully I almost laughed. "Yes." I looked up at him then. "Want to know what kind?" The words were spiced with a flippancy that I didn't really feel on a tone that was as defensive as it could be. "It would be easier to say what kind there wasn't. And that's my sad story. In a nutshell. Just like thousands of kids who end up in the system, I had a nasty childhood. Boo hoo. Break out the tissues."

"Sara-"

"It was a long time ago, right? I left it behind me. I was one of the lucky ones. I survived. Second chance. I made a new life for myself and I moved on...or so I thought." I kissed him then and it was just a sweep of my lips against his but it was enough. It was sincere and it was honest. "You screwed up everything and I love you for it but-"

"Things have changed."

"Yes. They have." I unlinked our fingers and held my hand up to his face. "You can't see it, Gil, but bad blood runs through my veins."

He stared at me then with something akin to confusion. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Some people...some people live with a black cloud overhead. And this black cloud shuts out the good and the positive and makes everything it touches bleed. It's like I'm a magnet for it."

"Sara, you're being ridiculous-"

"No, I'm not and if you'd ever met my family-my true family-you'd...well, you wouldn't dismiss what I'm saying so easily. I've seen so much blood, Gil. Long before I was ever involved in the police department or the morgue, it was a substance I knew intimately. My dreams...nightmares are coated with it...that and anger. Bruises and hatred and insanity an- and spite. How can anyone not be tainted by that? How can anyone possibly think that they could just walk away from that?" My palm fisted. "I was stupid, you see. I knew better than to...to let this happen. I had rules, Gil, and I broke every one the day I met you." I shook with a soggy little chuckle. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to drag you down with me. I'm not letting you pay for my stupidity. You mean too much to me for that. You'd think I would have learned by now but-"

"Sara...what do you mean, 'by now'?"

"Everyone I love, Gil...everyone I care about-that I feel connected to-gets hurt."

"And you're saying this is your fault?"

"No. Not directly but...it's like I'm the Omen...a portal for evil to pass through. People I love get hurt. Some even die and all I can do is witness the chaos. I've tried walking away. Divorcing myself from that darkness entirely...and the opposite too. Embracing it...confronting it. Nothing changes. I always end up back where I started."

"What about Lexie and Zach? If all this were true-?"

"Gil, Lexie almost died when I was in high school. Lab explosion. It was an accident but she wouldn't have been there at all if it wasn't for me! It was only by sheer luck that she-" I stood up, and this time he let me go. "I need to change and then I need to see those pictures."

Though I could see him struggling with everything I'd just slung at him, he tried to deal with at least one part of what I'd said. "The pictures...the ones I was sent?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because...I don't know how you got them...here...so quickly. If they're actually crime scene photos...which I'm assuming you were meant to think, there is no way they could have been developed, analyzed and sent here to you before I made it here this morning. It doesn't make sense."


	13. Chapter 12

Intermezzo

Part XII

"So...the blood...wasn't yours." Gil's voice was obviously strained.

"No." My voice was as clinically detached as I could manage. "Bovine we suspect. There was a lot...these pictures don't really do it justice. The walls were crusted with it. And see here...the splatter-"

"It's forced. Yes. I see it now. It's not what you'd consider a natural path...even if the jugular had...been punctured. Yes." His finger traced one line upwards from the mass on the table and it struck me then that that particular picture, if one wasn't aware that the blob in the centre was actually the top of a table could be mistaken for…

"Well," he said, after a moment, "if the purpose of these pictures was to unsettle me…they succeeded."

I nodded, a mute victim to the images that were playing through my brain in living colour. Seeing the pictures...the cold images on film...allowed me a little perspective. It didn't seem as personal. I could look at them objectively and so that now, hours after discovery, it seemed so very obvious that the blood on my walls bore no resemblance at all to the arched sprays that had coated the living room walls when my mother had murdered – had attacked my father with the knife. Any other weapon would have left unique signature trails. This was definitely an explosion of some sort and since there was no human tissue...well, it didn't appear that there was a human being involved here at all. "There was a package...the day we left the lab for your mom's cottage... a package that I left on the table." I pointed to the undefined blob in the centre of one of the pictures. "We found bits of paper and cardboard that will probably turn out to be the remains of that package. I wouldn't be surprised if we found some kind of incendiary device as well." He was still when I finished. So still that when I looked up I was startled to see that he was staring at me with an intensity that made me want to pull back from him. "What?" I asked him, too unnerved to let it go without comment.

He took his time answering, mentally chewing his words before giving birth to them. "So you called for back-up and lab support, stuck around while they went through due process and then made the decision to come to Vegas."

I frowned, not sure where this was leading, but answered, "Yes."

"Why?"

"'Why'? Why did I come to see you?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes. Why did you come here? Why did you feel it was necessary to hop on a plane and fly out to be with me?"

Again there was that stare. My knees started to shake. My mouth was suddenly very dry.

Before I could formulate a response, he resumed speaking. "Not that I'm not happy...wouldn't have been happy to have you here. In fact, if you remember, I invited you to come to Vegas with me only a few hours before. Hell, I practically begged you. But you'd refused then and that's why..."

"Why...?" I prompted, folding my arms defensively.

"Why I'm curious about what motivated you to fly out here to see me. Shouldn't you have stayed in San Francisco and waited for the results? They might have needed you for more questions." He leaned oh so casually against the island counter.

"I left this number. Cleared it with the station. They can reach me here."

"That's not exactly protocol. They would have had to make an exception…you would have had to have had a very good reason to leave."

I shrugged. "It wasn't difficult. I was still on medical leave, technically. Reporting back was my choice."

"Were you scared?"

I blinked, thinking what an odd thing to say, but out loud all I said was, "Wouldn't you be? Walking into something as awful as that is enough to frighten anyone, isn't it? I was still packed…it's only natural that I wouldn't want to stay there. That I would want to be with you. Isn't it?"

He shook his head in ready agreement. "Of course. For most people, anyways." He let another long pause drop between us, waiting to see if I would pick it up.

I didn't.

He was fishing. Fishing for information. Fishing for a response. I refused to rise to the bait. His 'spidey' senses were telling him that there was more going on here than what I was telling him and he was trying to get me to admit it.

He turned away abruptly then and began to busy himself with the coffee maker. He didn't ask if I wanted any and I didn't ask if he'd like help. Admittedly there were many times between us in which asking had been unnecessary but this action was about creating distance not a demonstration of how in sync we were with each other.

My stomach lurched. I didn't know if I could really handle coffee right now. Once again my life was being invaded with violence and blood and someone I loved was hurting. "I need to make a phone call," I said abruptly. "Actually...I should make two."

He nodded without turning.

So much for privacy. Sure, Sara, you could call anyone you liked but Gil was going to stick like glue while I did it. I sighed with enough irritation that the breath fairly hissed and began punching numbers. There was nothing I could say or do that would make this...situation...between Gil and I easier right now, so it was best to say nothing at all. The phone was ringing on the other end and I shifted impatiently while I waited for a connection. "Hello, this is CSI Sara Sidle." I gave my badge number woodenly as Gil slipped a mug of black coffee into my hand. "Thanks," I mouthed, trying to seem grateful for the gesture, while the desk sergeant confirmed my identification number and clearance. "Hello? Yes. Thank you. I was hoping to get Detective Dexter's number-he is? Really? How bad-okay. Yes, I know. No, it's important. I have some new information regarding the incident in my apartment. " There was a pause as I listened to the voice on the other end. "No. No, I-I...who's taking his cases in the interim? He's back? Carol told me-oh, alright. Yes, put me through, please. Thanks. I appreciate it." There were several clicks and some spaced beeps while the sergeant sent my call on. Gil was watching me, studying my expressions as I went through the motions, his face carefully blank. I cupped the mouthpiece of the phone and said quietly, "The detective who had been assigned to my case got hurt. He's in emergency. It's not life threatening but there was incident at his last scene that went bad. They won't give me the details." I frowned then. This added yet another layer to my suspicions regarding the photos. If Dexter had gone straight to his next call after leaving my apartment, had been there since and was now in emergency, he wouldn't have had any time to devote to my case at all. That being the so, it was unlikely Markenson would have sent anything along to me without Dexter's approval even supposing he had the time to develop the photos and courier them to Gil. The table would have been his first priority regardless. Someone had gone above and beyond to make sure that Gil had gotten those photographs. I wasn't exactly sure about the motive behind that action but there was no longer any doubt at all that Gil was also being targeted by my ghastly decorator. My ponderings were interrupted when my line suddenly connected. "Matt! You're back. Early. Carol wasn't expecting you until later. How's your mother?"

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances," Matt replied solemnly. He sounded tired and grim, not surprising considering the emotional burden he'd had to deal with in the past week. My heart went out to him despite our recent difficulties.

"I'm really sorry, Matt. If there's anything I can do to help?"

"No. No. Everything that can be done has been taken care of. Thanks. What can I do for you?" His tone was a little short, but I didn't take offense.

Not thrilled with the prospect of adding to his problems, I gave him a quick run down of everything that had happened since I'd stepped off the plane in San Francisco earlier that morning, noting Gil had straightened from his lean and was listening intently. I'd sort of glossed over things a little with Gil but like it or not, he was getting the details in spades as I answered Matt's questions. I didn't tell him about the sketchbook or our suspicions about being visited at the beach house. I still wasn't certain about those and if there was no connection it would only serve to muddy the current investigation. Besides, Gil had still to learn of the last one so it was only fair that he should be informed first before anyone else. "So, we're standing here, in G-Grissom's kitchen, looking at what appears to be crime scene photos of my apartment, but there's no way that they could be, right?"

"No, not if they were taken this morning," Matt confirmed with a grunt of confusion. "Let me check with a couple people. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Sure." I rattled off Gil's number and hung up the receiver. "He's calling back."

Gil nodded, his expression bland. "So...you failed your medical exam?"

My lips twisted more focussed on my next call rather than what Gil was saying. "I needed to be here more than San Francisco...so I-"

" Lied-"

"Finessed it...a little..."

"-to me about being well enough to return," he tossed back at me, staring me down.

Not having expected this line of questioning, I hastened to make amends. "No, Gil. I didn't." When he looked like he was about to argue, I said, "Look, I'm well enough to be back on the job, if I was determined to be there."

"So, I'll ask again, why are you here when there is an investigation going on regarding an explosive in your apartment in San Francisco? Why is it suddenly so important for you to risk your health to fly out here to be with me?"

I tried to laugh away the tension. "You make it sound like I'm at death's door-"

"From the sounds of things, you could be and I wouldn't be the wiser! I've got no frame of reference, Sara, other than the way you're acting and the actions you've taken, both of which are screaming at me that there is way more going on here than I'm privy to."

"I'm fine, Gil. At least by my standards. I'm not in pain every time I move and according to the doctor, everything's healing nicely."

"'By your standards'?" he parroted back. "Care to explain?" My face must have blanked...or shielded or something because he shook his head slowly. "You're forgetting that I was in that emergency room with you after Steiger - after they...and you-you refused to let them-Okay, look, forget it. Once again I'm crossing the line by caring about you. By being concerned. Sara's put up another wall and it's marked, 'Private'. I get it." He began to clean up the mess he'd made but then dropped the waste on the counter and strode for the door. Instinctively, I reached for him, knowing he'd be more vulnerable outside…alone…

"Where-where are you going?"

"Out," he answered, shortly. "I need a little air."

Not really eager to begin it but knowing I had to tell him about the book and my suspicions I said, "B-but Gil...there's something...something I need-"

"To tell me?" He stopped short at the door, turned abruptly and pinned me with a stone-like grimace. "Yes. That much I know is true. I'll be back. I'm sure you'll use the time I'm away wisely. Sorting out what you think I need to know and what you think I don't."

He left without another word. Without another look at me in fact. And I tried to comfort myself by saying that that was a good thing. I don't know what would have happened if he'd seen the tears that his words had started. One of us would have broken...most likely it would have been me.

Furious with myself for this show of weakness, I grabbed at the phone and made the second call I'd intended to make earlier, praying that Zach was in his office and I wouldn't have to try him at home. For the first time that day, it seemed luck was with me and I almost collapsed in a puddle of goo when I heard his hearty baritone on the other end of the line. "Sara! I was just thinking about you. Still not feeling well, hmm?"

"No, not one hundred percent but it's not serious by any means. I think the doctor's just being a little cautious," I hedged, inadvertently using the phrase my physician had used earlier that day. "Listen, I didn't want to go into this earlier...but there's actually another reason...my health isn't the only reason…I made the trip to Vegas."

My tone had an instantaneous effect on Zach's. "What's happened?" All business now, my former big city cop turned local chief of a stepfather, had just gone on high alert.

As clinically as I could, I gave Zach chapter and verse of the odd occurrences Gil and I had experienced at the beach house and the mess I had walked into earlier this morning. He did little more than grunt or say, "I see," during my recitation but I certainly got the impression he was listening intently to every word. "So you're calling," he said after my words had petered out, "to put us on alert."

"Yes," I admitted, with a tiny sigh of frustration, hot angry tears flooding my eyes. "Yes. I'm so sorry-"

He must have heard them in my voice because he immediately tried to soothe. "Hush. Shh, Sara, none of that-"

"I was hoping I…that it was just me, sleep-walking or something stupid like that but - but it wasn't. It can't be. Not after what I saw this morning. Regardless of the screwed-up things happening with the sketchbook, that explosion…well, there's no way I was responsible for that. And whoever it is…knows about my mother…and if they know that…they know…they know about the psych evaluations and the incidents at school when I was in foster care…when they were trying to figure out if I was mentally stable-" I hiccupped, gulping back hysteria like soda pop. "I had to call, Zach. I don't know what's going on here. Someone's playing a really sick little game with me and I couldn't risk - I won't let you and Lexie get caught in the middle. I'm sorry-"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Sara. You have nothing to apologize for. You did exactly what you should have done. We needed to know…"

"Can you take her away, Zach? Go out of town for a couple of days until I can look into this? I know it's a lot to ask but…"

"I can't just up and leave, Sara. Sorry. Too many people depending on me to do my job but I will take some extra precautions. Assign one of the junior officers to watch the house, keep on an eye on your mom." There was a pause. "I'll have to tell her, you know. She won't understand otherwise."

"I knew you would. And-and I'm fine with that. Especially if it helps keep her safe. But I don't want her to fly out to me. You know that will be her first instinct and I can't let her anywhere near here right now. That's why I told you first. You've got to convince her not to come."

"Don't worry, Sara. I can be pretty persuasive. But you better do your job too. Keep us informed. There'll be no stopping her if she doesn't her from you on a regular basis."

"I will. I will, I promise." There was a sound behind me and I looked up to see that Gil had returned. "I have to go now. I'm at Gil's place. In Las Vegas. Mom has the number. Do you?" He rattled off the number without hesitation and it struck me that he must have memorized it to have been able to do so. "Yes, that's it."

"It's a relief to know that you aren't alone right now. That you've got someone to watch your back. Your mom will appreciate that too."

"Yes," I answered simply, looking over at the man in question with his back against the front door. He'd folded his arms and was looking at me from such a distance…

A part of me wondered how much longer I'd be allowed to stay but I pushed that from my mind and signed off the call. "That was Zach," I told Gil, not eager to break the silence that had spread between us but determined to move forward.

"So I gathered," he replied slowly, his arms dropping to his sides as he launched himself off the door. He came towards me at a determinedly measured pace, allowing me to see his intentions in his eyes…to reject or welcome him as I chose. And when he touched me…when his hand brushed the side of my cheek as if to brush away a smudge of dirt…I trembled. "You are scared, aren't you?"

I tilted my head, trapping his hand against my shoulder when he would have pulled away. "Terrified."

He nodded. "I know. I can see it. It's there in your eyes. I suppose it was there all along but I was too angry to see it before." He hesitated only a moment then pulled me tight into his frame. "But not for yourself."

"No," I said, my answer muffled by his shirt. "For you." My breath caught and I almost didn't continue but I had to tell him. It was only fair. "The blood…it was everywhere and all I could think was that…I had to see you. I had to make sure you were all right. And if I had to lie to every doctor in San Francisco it didn't matter because I was determined to get on the first plane I could to come see you and make sure you were okay."

"Yes, I understand that. I would have done the same thing…but Sara, the one thing I don't understand is why…why you were so scared for _me_. The package exploded in _your_ apartment. Not mine. There was nothing to indicate I was involved. What…Why were you so concerned for my safety?"

Knowing I'd put off the enevitable as long as I could have, I pulled away from him and went to the suitcases that were standing in the same spot I'd left them when I'd first arrived. From their depths, I pulled the sketchbook and then retraced my steps to Gil's side. I settled it down on the kitchen island with the care one would use handling explosives making sure the picture was face down to the counter and then opened my mouth to give him an explanation only to find that it was totally unnecessary.

He cut right to the heart of the matter with dull-edged words. "When?"

"T-The last night we stayed at the beach house. I-I wasn't sure at first…but then when I saw the drawing…and the way it had been re-wrapped-"

"We had a deal, Sara. You were supposed to tell me. You were supposed to wake me. You gave me your word-"

"I know. I know I did. And I'm sorry. I really am. You have no _idea_ how sorry I am. But-But you have to understand! I thought…dammit, I really thought it was _me_. That I was doing these things and I couldn't-Gil, please listen, I could barely admit it to myself…I woke you every other time, I swear…it was just this last-" But he was walking away, hurt and angry with me all over again and I slammed my hands against the counter in frustration. "Shit! Shit! See…see! I can't win. I didn't tell you because I was trying not to involve you because I didn't want to hurt you and I ended up hurting you anyway!"

"This isn't about your secrets, Sara. The past has nothing to do with this. This is about us. About trust. About keeping promises-"

"No, Gil, you're wrong. It has everything to do with the past and the past has everything to do with us and trust and keeping promises. Everything. Be-Because…if someone…look! This is not just sme crackpot playing terrible little pranks. This…" I said, shaking the package but still in control enough to keep it face down, "goes beyond pranks. One of the pictures in here was altered and-and it's more than just something a prankster would do. Someone is trying their level best to get into my head and they're succeeding in ways that are so far and above…and then to see my apartment!" I dropped the package again, trying to find some way to explain it to him…without explaining it to him but realized there was no way to do that. "When I went out to get the food from the car that last morning, I found the sketchbook on the deck."

"Same place? Same way?"

"Yes. And it was open…to that picture I'd drawn of Steiger. Still wrapped up in bags and staples but certainly different from the last time I'd seen it."

"That didn't make you panic," he said quietly, patiently.

I shook my head.

"What did?"

"There was writing…someone had written on the glass that was protruding from his chest."

"What did they write, Sara?"

I couldn't believe how hard it was to say…to speak the words out loud! "It said…it said…" I stopped, unable to do it and flipped the book so that Steiger's picture was looking at us and then pointed to the blade of glass with its horrific modification.

He read the words and knew them. I could see that. That he'd made sense of them, but he leaned in closer and read them again before finally looking up…before finally looking at me.

And because I was too afraid to interpret his expression…because I was too cowardly to look him straight in the eye, I launched into speech before he had a chance to say anything. "So you see, I was a little…um…I wasn't exactly thinking rationally when I-I discovered the writing so…"

He reached out to touch me but I pretended not to see it as I swept the book from the counter and returned it to my bag. Slowly I pulled the tag on the zipper, letting the bag devour the book from sight once more and said without turning around. "Someone out there knows more than they should. Someone…out there…knows more…than I _thought_ it was possible to know…"


	14. Chapter 13

Intermezzo

Part XIII

I remember standing in Gil's kitchen, so still, so quiet; I could hear the wall clock tick away the seconds from across the room. I can remember counting those seconds until they added up to a minute and the minutes until they totalled five before either of us moved a muscle. I also remember that Gil moved first, turning away, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the bag I'd brought from the market. I turned to look at him, curious as to why he hadn't bombarded me with questions or angry accusations. Certainly I'd expected those...well, some kind of emotional response to everything I'd just dropped on him but...as usual...Gil surprised me by going against the norm and forging his own path.

"When was the last time you ate, Sara?"

I was so surprised by the question, I literally couldn't formulate a response.

"Food, Sara. Nourishment. When was the last time you ate?"

"I-I don't-"

"Did you have anything on the plane? SFPD?"

I shook my head and he made a pronounced grunt of disapproval. "At least I had the sense to grab a bagel before I checked in at the lab. "

Feeling goaded, I shot back, "In case you've forgotten, I've been a little preoccupied."

He arched an eyebrow. "You're transparent...in more ways that count at the moment." He pulled a cutting board from a nearby cupboard and a sharp knife from the butcher block and slid them along the island to me. "You chop, I'll cook. You talk, I'll listen."

"Really? As simple as that?"

"We can make it more difficult, if you'd like but I think we both need communication rather than confrontation, don't you."

I let my head drop back heavily. "God, yes," I moaned, and made a swipe for the kitchen utensils. "But I didn't think you'd be that generous. I certainly don't deserve it."

"You really believe that?"

I shrugged. "Sometimes. Today...with you...yes." I grabbed a ripe tomato from the pile of vegetables on the counter and began slicing in even strokes. "And the last thing anyone could call _me_ is generous...I have to wonder... I tend to believe that what you give out, you get back, I...I don't understand why...?"

"Why I'm willing to listen?"

I shook my head. "Why you're being kind."

"There are moments today...when I was anything but kind."

"I'd say that's a matter of opinion."

He set a pot of water to boil and sliced open a package of fresh pasta with a pair of kitchen shears before answering. "Sara, just what were you expecting when you showed up here today?"

"Certainly not for us to be preparing a meal during this discussion! Prior maybe..."

"A confrontation, then."

"Pretty much. Anger...hostility...rage."

"More like the way I was behaving earlier."

"No. Worse." Tomatoes done, I reached for some orange bell peppers. "I might have lied to you at the beach house but I wasn't lying when I told you I loved you, Gil."

"I know that."

"Good. I'm glad you do. It makes me happy to love you...but-"

"It also scares you."

"Yes."

"More than just the average person."

"I don't know about that...but...I've seen how happy love can make people and...I've seen how it can destroy them too." Another pepper dissected, I grabbed some green onion stalks. "My parents..." I began, but then stopped, not quite sure where to go from there.

"Love doesn't destroy people," Gil said, almost inaudibly as he sliced chicken in preparation for grilling. "Other things...jealously, obsession, greed..."

"Alcohol, drugs, violence...secrets...they're the real weapons of destruction. Yeah, I know. But when love is supposed to be there...supposed to conquer all...it just makes everything else that much more deadly." Onions done, I stepped over to the sink and rinsed my hands, taking my time to compose my thoughts. "I'm not going to go into everything here, Gil, and it's not because I don't want to necessarily...it's because I can't." I turned off the water and began to towel off. "I need you to understand that from the start. I don't keep secrets by choice. I keep them for self-preservation...if that makes sense."

He looked up from the saucepan, considered my words and then nodded in acceptance. "Alright. I get the distinction. But do you really feel you need to protect yourself from me?"

"No...no, but that's my point. It's so automatic for me now. It's not something I can just turn off and on at will. Most of the time it works in my favour but others...well, I hurt people unintentionally that I care about...or who care about me. And I know that that is no excuse but like I said, my first instinct is self-preservation. Apologize later."

"Harsh way to go about living. Very lonely."

I nodded. "I've spent most of my life alone. It's only in the very recent past that I've felt any type of security or true connection with the people in my life."

"Like Lexie and Zach."

"And you. Especially you. You're so very important to me, Gil. I can't even begin to tell you how..." I fished for words in that stream but couldn't catch any so I cut line and moved to another. "My earliest memory...I think I was two or three...was of me hiding under my bed...in the lining of the mattress...hearing things breaking and screaming and the sounds of people being thrown into walls and furniture. I don't remember anything before and I really don't even remember the details of how and when...I just remember the noise and the fear. It was constant. And though there were times when we did things together...moments when my parents remembered they weren't the only people living in the house...they were few and far between. In the early days, we presented a good face to the neighbourhood...to the school but that changed when I was about...six...I think. We started getting visits from social services and late night police calls because the violence was escalating. It was hard to hide it all behind closed doors and the tension in the house simply got worse. I had a loose, if somewhat tenuous connection with my birth mother. I didn't have any connection with my father. To him I might have been a piece of furniture or a pet he never agreed to keeping. The only time he acknowledged my existence at all was when he wanted to strike back at my mother." At least until I was older, I added silently, when he became _too _aware of my presence and I started to avoid being with him alone at all costs.

"But you got out. You were in foster care. Which obviously, wasn't much better but-"

"Yes. My father...died...and everything changed. I became a ward of the state. My mother...was unable-unfit to care for me. For several months she was under psychiatric evaluation."

And though I didn't elaborate, I could see the wheels in his head churning. There was more there but he wasn't going to push. "How old were you?"

"Nine."

"That's young...to be with that kind of fall-out."

"There are kids who see worse, younger."

"Unfortunately, you're right but that doesn't change the fact that it was obviously a very traumatic event in your life."

"I'm not trying to trivialize it. I'm just stating facts. And while most people would see that as a tragedy...I-I saw it as inevitable. There was no way to escape it. It was the path they had chosen. They were out to destroy each other and...god help anyone who got in the way."

"Like you."

"Like me. Chicken's burning."

Gil jerked back. "Excuse me? Oh. Damn. Wait, just let me-"

"I got it," I told him, grabbing a glass bowl from his cupboard and neatly tipping the frying pan of meat into its orifice. "We're good," I said, examining the meat strips. "I should think the pasta is done as well."

"Yes," he said as he grabbed oversized bowls from yet another cupboard and filled them with noodles, fresh vegetables and a healthy sprinkling of soya sauce. I divided the chicken between our bowls and our conversation lagged as we assembled cutlery, drinks and napkins before moving to the little dinette set by the kitchen window. Just as well, I wasn't really sure what exactly I wanted to say. But as soon as we'd settled in and had a few mouthfuls of food, Gil got the ball rolling again. "So you were remanded to foster care."

"Yes, and at first...at first it seemed better but-but...there were...there were a lot of complications with regard to my father's death. Suspicions. Half truths. Too much truth sometimes. My mother...my mother was still a significant part of my life for the first year or so. I visited her in the hospital. And she would pretend that she was getting better but...it was all a lie. It just took me a while to see it. I did everything she asked me to. Said what she told me to say. Answered so many questions...there was a point where I had so many people picking at my brain...I had a hard time distinguishing between the truth of what really happened that night and what...they were trying to-to convince me had happened that night. I still haven't got it all figured out. And the more I've tried to suppress those images, the vaguer the memory has become. The nightmares, however...the nightmares...it's almost as if they've become more real to me than the memories of what actually happened." I sighed, and pushed a tomato around my plate. "I really think I need to go back to therapy. Maybe...maybe if I find someone whom I can't run rings around, maybe I might be able to get the help I need and all this might stop." I looked up at him. "And maybe if I get that help, I might be able to carry on a normal relationship with someone I care about."

"Maybe you're right," Gil said, in a softly encouraging tone. "I don't think it could hurt."

"You never know. I got quite a distaste...distrust even...for therapists of any kind. I don't know if I can willingly place myself in that position again. Having someone inside my head...examining everything I say and do. I don't know if I can hold up to that kind of scrutiny. It almost broke me last time."

"But it would be different this time. The therapist would be on your side."

"Yes."

"As they're supposed to be. I wouldn't be a pawn this time."

"A pawn?"

"In my mother's twisted path of survival. She used every tool at her disposal to turn things to her favour but in the end, it didn't work. There was a trial, you see. To determine my mother's level of competence. To take care of me. To face up to her actions. I was forced to testify and she used me like a puppet...let the lawyers and the shrinks do anything they wanted with her full permission without any regard for my mental health. For the most part, she was telling the truth but the judge didn't buy it. She was manipulating me to get what she needed and when that failed...when I realized exactly what she'd done...well, there came a point when my social worker and my therapist thought it was best that we sever relationships until such a time when we could both be more rational but...that time never came."

"What happened, Sara?"

"One of the ways, I used to rationalize my existence...and the life that I'd had with my birth parents...was that I blamed almost all of the problems in my life...hell, in my mother's life too if we're being honest...on my father. And while, he deserved a good...oh, I don't know, seventy-five percent of the blame, I think I was too young – or simply so desperate to cling to any vestige of normalcy – to understand that there was certainly some blame that had to be laid at the feet of my mother. He instigated things...he was the reason the violence was so extreme...but she...she stayed. She was weak and addicted to cocaine and certainly more selfish than I ever gave her credit for being."

"She pushed you too far."

"Yes. Showed her true colours. I couldn't deal with it. And the change in me was terrifying. Instantaneous. I went from being this frightened child, living with strangers, hoping for a second chance with my one surviving parent to an unbelievably angry, angry person. I discovered a temper inside me the likes of which...I'd never even realized existed. I stopped cooperating with the therapists, the cops, the social workers and most especially with her. I shut down entirely. And nothing...no pleas, no threats...not even promises that I was going to end up just like my mother if I couldn't get control of myself, changed what I was feeling. Not then, anyway. I was consumed with a rage that I honestly believed I hadn't possessed. Though why I should have been so surprised, I really don't know. Like they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, right? I am the product of my genes and my upbringing."

His fork hit his plate with a loud clatter. "I don't believe that any more than you do."

I smirked, not at him but at myself. "Until recently, I would have said you were correct. That it doesn't matter what people were born into or the way they were raised. If they wanted to be a better person...were honestly committed to changing...then they could. But I've been kidding myself for almost twenty-six years and it's time I re-evaluate my position whether I like it or not." I stabbed at some pasta and took my time chewing it before I continued. "But that's neither here nor there. I guess the point of this homey little trip down memory lane is that, as I said before, someone out there knows more than they should about the life I tried to leave behind. Those words, that phrase around the knife edge, they weren't just picked at random." I pressed my fork into another piece of pasta, and was surprised when my vision started to blur with tears.

"Just tell me...please, Sara, just tell me."

"They were..." I cleared my throat and tried to speak up, "...the last words my mother ever said to me."


	15. Chapter 14

Intermezzo

Part XV

Gil was quiet in the aftermath of that statement. We both were. When I settled my fork on the table, the clang it made sounded over loud despite the fact that I'd placed it there fairly carefully. The words kept rolling over me...swimming through my brain like a greasy, venomous snake. I shivered as my mind replayed them, adding her tone, her expression in a techno-colour time warp, for the first time in all the years since I'd originally heard them. It was almost like I was there...a child again...listening to the horrible tirade she'd battered me with as she paced the tiny room we'd been directed to after court had been adjourned. I leaned back in my chair, dazed by the detail. I had a hard time accepting the clarity. When had this recollection ever been this vivid? This powerfully real? In my mind's eye, I could see the spittle that had collected at the corners of her mouth...the florid complexion that bloomed against the strained skin of her hollowed out cheeks...the dated designer suit that hung off her emaciated frame. I could even...even 'smell' her. That awful...clinical...medical smell that every hospital seemed to reek of clung to her like a second skin and I'd get fresh bursts of the odour every time she'd walk past me.

"Disinfectant," I whispered, finally putting a name to it.

"Sorry?"

"My mother. The last time I saw her. I just remembered...she smelled like disinfectant. Like hospital grade disinfectant." I shuddered. "Yet another reason to hate hospitals."

"Is that where you were?"

"When?"

"When you saw her that last time?"

I knew Gil was talking but I was too distracted to take in what he was saying. "Hmmm?"

Gil's eyes crinkles as his mouth formed an understanding grimace. "Maybe the question I should have asked is, 'Where are you now?'"

That got me and I met his gaze directly. "Where indeed," I said with a tired sigh and picked up my plate. I circled the island to reach the sink. He followed suit, joining me as I answered, "One of those tiny consultation rooms at the main courthouse in San Francisco. I just got a mental blast from the past that was a little-um-unnerving. Rather vivid."

"And that's unusual? With your memory, I would have thought-"

"I have very clear memories from the time I was brought to foster care. As I said, the early years have always been-" I shook my head. "A lot of my childhood is...fuzzy." I felt my face screwing into a frown. "No, fuzzy isn't the right word. Let's just say it's difficult for me to tell fact from fiction at times, though I have to say that that seems to be changing whether I want it to or not."

"You've said that you've spent most of your life trying to repress those memories. Put distance between the child you were then and the person you are now. And most likely you needed to...a sort of self preservation. Maybe your brain is trying to tell you it's ready to deal with that part of your life now and it's forcing you to comply."

"Hmmm. Possibly," I replied, shuddering at the psychological direction our conversation had taken. I understood psychology...had made myself a devout student of the subject in order to survive but that in no way meant that I liked the anything associated with it. "Anyway, we were there, at the courthouse, and she was ranting. No more pretence about being a devoted mother, looking out for the best interest of her only surviving child. A battered wife desperate for a second chance...no, she was in fine form." The mundane task of dealing with our dishes and cleaning up the counters left my mind free to examine the scene playing in my head in minute detail. "She was furious with my lack of cooperation."

"She was scared."

"Terrified," I agreed. "She'd lost whatever chance she'd had of staying out of prison and she was desperate. She'd thought I was just going to fall in line. Do what I was told but-I'd had enough. E-nough." My effort for control had me breaking the one word into two. "And when the bailiff came...came...the bailiff! Holy crap, it couldn't be!"

"What? What about the bailiff?"

I clutched at his arm, soapy water sloshing on the floor and his feet in the process. "Gil, I need...I need you to look into something for me. I wouldn't ask if I could do it myself. Please!"

He ignored the water. "Of course. If I can. What exactly?"

"As simple as that?" I asked, and though the question was soft and full of confusion, it was a demand all the same. "Despite everything we've just said...everything I've just dumped on you?"

"Yes," he replied and I was in awe of his generosity.

"Okay," I said, trying to lay it out while still working through it in my head. "Okay. A lot of the court records pertaining to my mother's trial were sealed. Some because of my mother's mental state-some of her testimony was conducted in chambers due to her precarious grasp on reality- but most because of my involvement."

"Right. You were a minor. They would have made it difficult for anyone to access them without a high level of security clearance and possibly a warrant."

"Yes. I've tried to access them and have been categorically denied. Though they have said that if I was willing to enter therapy, my doctor might have grounds to apply for access if he believed they were necessary for treatment."

"So, you want me to try and access them? Why would you think I would have better luck? And why are they suddenly so important?"

"Well, firstly, I'm not really concerned with the trial itself, at least not right now. I mean I am but that's not the information I need. I'm more concerned about the people connected with the case. In particular-"

"The bailiff. Yes, I got that. Why?"

"I need his name, Gil. I have a sneaking suspicion I know who might be behind all of this...I'm hoping I'm wrong but I'm very afraid that I'm not."

"Sara-"

"But if I am, we might be able to put a stop to this pretty damn quick!" My lips tightened in anger. I didn't know if I was hoping more to be right or wrong but I was fairly certain that if I turned out to be correct a particularly burly member of the SFPD was about to get the most unholy ass-kicking of his entire life!

"Sara!"

"What?" My eyes flew to his and I reluctantly abandoned making plans of revenge.

"Who...who do you think is behind all of this?"

"Matt," I muttered, bending down to tidy up the pool of water on the kitchen floor. Gil made a move to help but I waved him off. Wiping kept my hands busy.

"Matt? Matt Lambert? Your supervisor, Matt Lambert?"

"Yes. It's a possibility." I sat back on my heels, trying to bring the image of the bailiff's face into sharper focus. There were definite similarities in build and stance but there was no way I was going to trust my hazy memories of my mother's trial without some kind of proof to back them up. "I'm not sure, Gil. I'm not a hundred percent sure, but it's possible he may have been the bailiff assigned to my mother's trial."

"I don't understand, Sara." He passed me another dish towel to help soak up more of the water.

I didn't either but I shrugged and tried to explain, "That flashback I just had...the bailiff...he looks an awful lot like a younger version of Matt Lambert. Now, I'm not saying for sure it is him...but if we're looking for someone who has inside knowledge of our plans and schedules and who might have been at my mother's trial-"

"And who at one point had a very personal interest in you...probably still does for all intents and purposes."

"Well, I don't know about the personal interest part...I mean, if I'm right I'm sure I was just one child out of hundreds he'd seen...I'm surprised he'd remembered me at all..." I broke off, my head slowly raising until my eyes met Gil's. I'd been so caught up in my thoughts that I'd failed to notice that there'd been an edge to Gil's response. A tone that was almost...ummm...territorial? Jealous? I blinked and then blinked again for good measure. "Wait. Wait a minute. You don't mean that he took a personal interest at the trial. You meant that he 'does' have a personal interest. As in now. Present day.

Gil didn't answer right away. Seeing I'd cleaned up the water, he extended a hand to me with the intention of helping me get to my feet. I accepted the hand, wondering what strange new turn this conversation was about to take. "Yes," he said simply, and I bopped him the shoulder when he didn't seem inclined to continue. "I think we're both fully conscious of the fact that Matt Lambert was very pissed off to find out the extent of your involvement with me and positively baffled at the very concept of you and I having an intimate relationship in the first place."

"Matt Lambert is an imbecile but that's a whole different conversation than the one we're currently having." I folded my arms and shook my head at Gil. "How the hell did you-? I didn't think Matt was so obvious that other people would have noticed he had feelings for me."

"He wasn't obvious to most but he was certainly obvious to me. Plus...I overheard you...that day...when you went for coffee."

"Oh crap."

"Hmmm."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Concern for his feelings, his pride, had me reaching out, placing a hand on his chest. "None of it was true. I never thought any of those vile-"

"Shhh. I know. I know." His hand covered mine where it lay. "You wouldn't..."

"But you would."

He couldn't answer me without lying so he just pulled me into his arms instead. "It doesn't matter. You love me. I get it."

"I do love you."

"The part that I still don't understand is that you won't marry me-"

"Don't. Just...don't."

A shudder of frustration rippled through him. I felt every muscle ripple and contract then forcibly relax. "So...you need the name of the bailiff."

"Yes." I felt so small, asking for more from him, incapable of reciprocating.

"I'll see what I can do."


	16. Chapter 15

**_Intermezzo_**

**_Part XV_**

"Sara, your pacing is not going to make this process move any faster. You need to give me some space. Why don't you start us a pot of coffee? This could take a while."

My steps faltered and I looked up at him, frowning. "How are we going to prove it?"

"Excuse me?" Gil had been put on hold for the third time in twenty minutes as he navigated through the various justice departments of the San Francisco legal system.

"We've got nothing to tie him to the incidents. No fingerprints. No DNA. No witnesses."

Gil shook his head. "We'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's see if we can make a connection first and then-oh, yes," he said into the receiver. "I'm on hold for the documents supervisor. Thank-you. Yes…I'll hold."

I groaned in frustration and he shot me a stern look. "Okay. Okay. I'll go make coffee." I clomped out of his home office and back into the kitchen. I filled the reserve tank of the machine with water. "Blood all over my dining room and he wants me to make coffee." I dropped a filter into the funnel section and upended a measured amount of grinds for a strong blend. "Creepy notes in my sketch book and I'm making coffee." I could have kept muttering but my brain finally caught up with my ungrateful mouth and I snapped it shut. I didn't mean what I was saying. I knew he was doing this for my benefit. I was just having serious issues with my lack of control over the events of my life in recent days.

I leaned back against one of the counters, folded my arms and watched the machine go through its paces. It wasn't long before a pleasantly rich aroma began to filter through the condo and I have to admit that Gil had had a good idea. A cup of coffee would really hit the spot right now. I reached for mugs and filled them generously when the pot had brewed, taking a quick sip before finger grasping the handles and making my way back to Gil's office.

He was deep in conversation when I entered, making notes and prompting the person on the other end for more details. At least there had been some progress. He was actually speaking to someone now. He didn't even look up as I settled his mug on the desk and dropped into the chair on the visitor's side. The conversation continued on for another couple of minutes with Gil doing a lot of listening more than talking and then everything changed. Gil's body grew stiff, his head flew up and his eyes met mine, a twisted, nasty smile on his lips. "Really. You're certain. All right. Yes. A you can send a copy of that document to me? Las Vegas Crime Lab. Dr. Gilbert Grissom. Yes. Confidential. Alright. Good. Thank-you." He replaced the receiver, and leaned back in his chair, eyeing me steadily. "I suppose I could ask the standard, 'Good news or bad news first?'"

"Bad of course. I don't know why anyone would ask for the good before the bad."

"Bad it is. The records of your mother's trial are protected to a standard that I am given to understand rates a much higher security clearance than I currently have. When I questioned the severe restriction I was told that the reason such restrictions had been applied had to do with the confidentiality agreements negotiated after the trial by your father's former law firm associates. Apparently, certain confidential records had had to be accessed during cross examination relating to some of your father's former clients and his former associates had made a point of petitioning the courts for public denial to the trial transcripts in order to protect their clients' privacy to the fullest."

My eyebrows rose. "Well, you've gotten more information than I'd managed to receive the last time I looked into it. I wasn't told about my father's law firm. At least that explains some of the resistance I'd been getting."

"And they wouldn't have informed you about those restrictions unless they felt they had cause. Obviously, after hearing the reason for my request, they felt I had cause, but I'm still not allowed access at this time."

"They need proof," I surmised with a helpless shrug.

He mumbled his assent around a sip of coffee. "Now, it doesn't mean that this is the end of the road. As you mentioned earlier, should we be investigating an active case that we can _prove_ has a direct connection to your mother's trial, we can petition for access and will most likely be granted such. Alternatively it was mentioned to me that your court appointed child representative at the time had ensured that should you need access to these records at a future date they would be supplied to you as pertained to both your testimony and your mother's."

I nodded coldly, "But only through a therapist's guidance and recommendation for treatment purposes. Yes, so I'd been told."

"Apparently, this was the only way your father's firm would allow this stipulation. And even with a therapist's recommendation you'd still only be allowed access to a specifically edited version of the transcripts. Any and all information regarding your father's former clients and dealings as a lawyer would be omitted along with the police records, evidence logs and forensic documentation."

I shook my head. "No wonder I've been blocked at every turn. Can they do this? Don't I have a right to see everything that pertains to my life and my mother's trial?"

"That's something you'd have to take up with an attorney. I'm not sure if it would change anything but if there had been a violation of your rights regarding these restrictions, then that would be the best way of finding out. As I said, I'm out of the running unless we can prove the connection. There is one more piece of important information pertaining to those transcripts. The restrictions are only temporary."

"Excuse me?"

"There's a statute of limitations attached to access. The judge ordered the restrictions to be repelled after a period of twenty years, thus giving your father's law firm time to deal with any issues that arose from the case."

"Twenty years." I did a quick calculation. "That's only a little over three years from now."

"Four actually, as the restrictions were decided upon in a hearing that took place almost a year after your mother's trial concluded. At that time, though there would still be some restrictions to the knowledge for the general public, you as a key witness and immediate family to the accused would be granted full access to any and all documents relating to the trial including all evidentiary support."

"Well. That's something I guess." But it wasn't really and I couldn't help the bitterness that welled up in me. "Four years."

"It's not so long."

"No?"

"And as I said, I would suggest you explore your legal rights in this matter if it's that important to you-"

"Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit!" I sprang up from the chair, rage sending me back to pacing the confined space. "Don't you see? I don't want it to be that important. I worked so hard to make sure it wasn't that important but here it is. Here it is again and it is that important and I'm-I'm-"

"You're what, Sara?"

"I'm scared that it's all that's ever going to be important again."

"That you're going to lose that control you're so fiercely protective of and be as vulnerable as the rest of us?" It was a quietly worded challenge but a challenge all the same.

I conceded his point with a tight little nod but added, "It's a little more complicated than that but essentially, yes."

"Sara, we all have baggage. Insecurities. It's what makes us human."

"Yes, Gil, I understand that." If his tone was slightly condescending, my tone was blatantly so. "Your point?"

"My point," he muttered back, his patience barely in check, "is that as I know I can trust you to be sensitive to my needs and issues, why you don't believe I am capable of doing the same for you? Why you don't trust me enough to deal with yours?"

I laughed. I actually laughed outright and then grabbed his arm as he too got to his feet but headed for the door. Insult was oozing from his skin and I wrapped my arms tight around his frame, refusing to let go until he softened. I felt his arms sneak about me and I drew in a careful, soulful breath. "I trust you." I waited a beat…a heartbeat for that to sink in before I continued. "I trust you more than anyone…including myself. This isn't about how I think you'd deal with it…or at least not directly. It's about how I'll deal with it when I can actually see the facts laid out in black and white and whether or not it's fair for you to have to deal with any and all shit that might come from that."

"Prove it," he demanded roughly, his lips in my hair, his hands clutching my back.

"Gil, I don't know how-"

"Tell me, damnit. _Tell me_. Give me the facts. You may not be able to interpret but we can deal with the hard truths."

"Facts." The word was practically a curse as it shot from my throat. "Facts. You want the facts? Just the facts? Okay, fine. I've tried to protect you but okay." I pulled away from him and resumed my pacing. "Okay. My mother…was a drug addict." She was more than that but I wasn't going to go into our twisted relationship just now. "My father was too but alcohol abuse was more of an issue with him than the drugs." He was a drunken tyrant most of the time I'd known him and could hardly stand to be in the same room with me; drunk or sober. "I don't remember a time when they weren't fighting." I do remember being on a first name basis with several of the emergency triage nurses at the local hospital. "One night my mother killed my father and I was there when it happened."

I stopped pacing, looking at him for some sign of pity or disgust but there was nothing like that in his eyes. He was still, and listening and simply there, so I continued. "I can't remember all of the details. Have actually tried very hard to block them out but now…the nightmares are back and I see them doing things…see myself doing things…and I can't figure out if those visions are actual memories or just sick games my imagination is playing on me. All I know is that I ended up as a ward of the state because none of my surviving relatives would take me." Especially after I was diagnosed with extreme anger issues and couldn't pass a psych eval with 'normal' results. "I was used and twisted and prodded for close to two years as my mother went through therapy to discover weather she was fit to stand trial. When it was decided that she was, and the decision went against her, she took her own life when her last appeal failed rather than face a ten year jail term from manslaughter. Those are the facts…but there is so much I haven't been able to deal with because I have no frame of reference to pull from. I'd tried several times while I was a minor to access those records but was rebuffed at every turn."

"And there was no one to help you? No advocate? Foster parent?"

I shook my head slowly, my smile sad and a little hard. "By the time I was fourteen, I'd discovered I harbored a deep hatred and mistrust for anyone in the legal or psychiatric professions. I'd burned a lot of bridges with my attitude and had a very difficult time asking for anyone's help let alone the assistance of those people who told me they were my protectors but turned out to be no better than the monsters that created me. I didn't trust anyone in the system and I didn't have the resources to seek help outside of it."

"But despite all of that…the terrible start…the messed up years in between…something happened. Something happened to change all of that." He reached out, stroking a finger along the slope of my cheek. "Lexie?"

Kitten-like I rubbed my face against his palm, settled by the feel of his skin against mine. The connection between us vital and warm. "Lexie. She saved me. She knew me, at least, that's what she told me at the time. Knew I belonged to her right from the start." _Just like I knew I belonged to you the first moment you spoke to me_, I silently added. "When I met Lexie, and we grew close…when she adopted me, I wanted a fresh start. I turned my back on the past with the intention of starting over. Accessing the transcripts was no longer my main goal in life. I wanted the second chance she was offering me so badly that I pushed all of that misery away and moved on. It took a while but the nightmares stopped. And I was happy. I thought maybe…they were gone for good. I started doing things a normal teenager did. Dating, getting ready for college…working. It was good. I had friends, people who I cared about in my life that loved me back. What's more I accepted that love and knew it…all of its good and vital parts…not just the ugliness I'd grown up with as a kid. And then there was the day I met you. And you touched something in me…and I knew for the first time what it meant to be _in love_ and again, it felt wonderful and I was so hopeful."

"So what…when did things change?"

"You got hurt. I don't know exactly why…but it…triggered something in me. Seeing you there, so pale. Knowing how badly you'd been hurt. I had a nightmare."

"Yes. I remember. You were screaming."

"Bad enough you heard me in your room. You came in and I…I was so shocked and…upset and it was all I could do not to flinch when you reached for me. I tried to brush it off. Act normally…but I know I didn't cover it well."

Gil rocked me a little, his head moving side to side over mine. "No. I didn't know at the time how traumatic an experience you'd had but it became obvious when you ran back to San Francisco some major shift had happened. I thought perhaps we'd managed to push through it at first but then you stopped sleeping."

I shuddered a little, my nerves hypersensitive. "I had hoped the nightmare was a one-time thing. Maybe brought on by your attack…but it wasn't. And what's worse was they were more intense than the ones I'd had as a teenager. The cycle had started all over and I tried to deal with it…really tried but when the pranks started happening I wondered, seriously wondered, if I'd lost it completely. Walking in and seeing the blood all over my dining room was actually quite reassuring in some ways."

"Because you knew you hadn't set that package to explode," he said, reading my mind.

"Yes. I mean, at first…at first I admit I panicked a little. The stained walls looked a little…horrifyingly…familiar…and I wonder now if that was the purpose," I said in a tired little voice. When Gil looked at me blankly, I added, "There was blood everywhere on that night when I was nine. On the walls, on them, on me. Just…" I shuddered and moved away, reaching for the coffee mug and downing a now-cold sip. "It was like we'd bathed in it…no…worse, like we'd played and splashed around in it. I do remember… that it took a long time for them to get the blood out of my hair." The nurses had had to work very carefully when they'd sponged me off because it was difficult for them to differentiate between my numerous injuries and the bloody cast off from my father. I smiled humorlessly. "You know what the saddest part about all of this is?"

He didn't answer. He could only shake his head.

My throat was tight but I pushed the words out anyway. "While I know that my father's drunken attempt at raping me was the incident that finally forced my mother to act I still to this day don't know if she went after him to protect me or if she was in a jealous rage." I went to take another sip of coffee, grimaced and then grabbed his mug from the desk. "So there you are. The facts as I know them." I waited for him to say something, to respond, but when he didn't move I realized I needed a bit of space. "T-These are cold. I need… I need fresh."

I twisted to head out the door and almost made it before his arms slid around my waist from behind and he wrapped me into his warmth. And we stood there, my hands full, his lips pressed into the soft, sensitive curve of my neck, the weight of my body supported by his as we shared an agonizing moment of raw intimacy. "I love you, Sara," he whispered clutching me tighter as I tried to pull away.

"How, Gil? How could you-?"

"I do. I just do. I know it's not everything…in fact, it's probably only the barest hint but it helps, Sara. It helps more than you know." His hands fisted against my stomach, "I wish I could do something-anything-!"

My instinctive protest was overloud in the quiet of the room. "You are! You listened to everything I said and you're still here, proving once again that you are one of the kindest, strongest people I know. You are," I insisted, a little quieter when he tried to brush away my words. "You were right. It was time…I had to tell you. I had to. I don't think I knew myself how important it was to say those words out loud to you. I'm just so glad that…that you're still here and holding me and that-that-" Too choked up to continue with words, I turned my head and kissed him until the pressure in my chest eased and the remaining tension drained from both our frames.


End file.
